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Book i ____ 



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THE REEF, AND OTHER PARABLES. 



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REV. E. H. BICKERSTETH. 

i. 

YESTERDAY, TO-DAY, AND FOREVER. A Poem 

in Twelve Books. 12mo. Price $2.00; cheap edition, $1.25. 

"It is truly wonderful in conception, sweet and beautiful in execu- 
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before it. We do not hesitate to pronounce it the greatest sacred poem 
that has been written in modern times." — S. S. Times. 

II. 
THE TWO BROTHERS, and Other Poems. 12mo. 

Price $2.00. 

11 The more recent poems of Mr. Bickersteth are instinct with the 
spirit of true poetry, full of original power and conception, aod are often 
imbued with a delicate sweetness and truth of feeling all their own." — 
Standard, London. 

III. 

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reveal of the Estate and .Employments of the Blessed Dead 
and the Risen Saints. 24mo, gilt. Price $1.00. 

IV. 
WATER EROM THE WELL-SPRING for the Sab- 
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V. 

THE SPIRIT OF LIFE; or, Scripture Testimony to 

the Divine Person and Work of the Holy Ghost. 12m o. 

Price $1.25. 

VI. 

THE MASTER'S HOME-CALL; or, Brief Memorials 

of Alice Frances Bickersteth. (Thirteen Thousand copies 

have been sold in England of this little book.) 32mo gilt. 

Price 50 cents. 



THE REEF, 



ani ©tfjer ParaMea. 



BY 

EDWARD HENRY BICKERSTETH, 

AUTHOR OF "YESTERDAY, TO-DAY, AND FOREVER." 



" Though what, if earth 
Be but the shadow of heaven, and things therein 
Each to other like, more than on earth is thought-" 

> Paradise Lost. 



NEW YORK: 

ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS, 

530 Broadway. 

1874. 






Cambridge : 
Press of JoJm Wilson and Son. 

GIFT 
BERTRAM SMITH 



TO MY YOUNG FRIENDS IN ENGLAND 
AND AMERICA. 

r I ^HESE parables were most of them writ- 
ten in a home, which for long years 
had been one of sunshine and of song. The 
storms had indeed lately fallen upon us once 
and again ; but God, who is rich in consola- 
tion, granted us a season of clear shining 
after rain, until, as these pages were passing 
through the press, a cloud of sorrow greater 
than any we had known before almost sud- 
denly overshadowed us. The light of earth 
was darkened and the voice of laughter 
hushed. But you, dear friends, who are 
disciples in the school of Jesus, have learned 
at His feet that the golden glow of heaven 
can shine down upon our pilgrim path in the 
cloudy and dark day, and its melodies be 
heard by those who listen for them over the 



VI PBEFACE. 

waves of this troublesome world. May I 
then venture to ask (for I set great store 
by the prayers of young warm hearts) that, 
if you find your trust and love and patience 
quickened by any of the stories in this little 
volume, you will sometimes pray that the 
writer and his motherless children may, in 
their shadowed home, see the far-off glory 
and catch the music of that better land, to 
which he has striven in every parable to lead 
your footsteps on. 

E. H. B. 

Christ Church Vicarage, Hampstead, 
14 October, 1873. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

The Reef 9 

avehdah or the lost island 35 

1 * Over the Hills Homeward" 74 

The Plague-stricken City 115 

Eugene the Debtor 157 

Phaedrus and Philemon 188 

Una the Bride 224 

Beyond the River 272 



THE REEF. 




Y home was situ- 
ated in an island 
on a wooded 
hill, which rose 
far above the 
surge- beaten 
cliff, and from 
which, when 
the air was pe- 
culiarly clear, 
yon could dis- 
cern the faint 
outline of the opposite coast. One beautiful 
summer day I had threaded the zig-zag path 
which led down to the fisherman's cove, and 
was pacing the shingly shore, interspersed as 
it was with reaches of silver sand, when, lulled 




10 THE BEEF. 

by the murmur of the waves, I fell into a 
muse ; and, musing, my thoughts shaped them- 
selves into the waking dream which I will 
relate. 

I thought I was carried in spirit leagues 
and leagues away to a far-off rock-bound 
land. It was early morning. The mists of 
night still clung around the stern cliffs ; but 
just emerging from their skirts, as they 
rolled themselves up in massive folds of 
vapor, I saw a little boat with a snow-white 
sail, and in it a sailor-boy all alone. The 
boat was gaily painted, and the sparkling 
waters fell in drops of light on either side of 
its prow, as the sun arose in the distant east. 
The boy held the rudder with a cheerful but 
somewhat reckless air ; and I could not 
doubt from the direction in which he steered 
that he was purposing to cross the straits 
which separated the shore he had left from 
the distant mainland. 

My heart misgave me when I remembered 
all I had heard of those dangerous straits, so 



THE REEF. 11 

often vexed with sudden squalls, so intricate 
with opposing currents, and so thickly set 
with sunken rocks and shoals and perilous 
sand-banks. I said to myself, how could his 
friends allow so young a boy to venture 
alone ? I did not know then what I learned 
afterwards, that they had strictly charged 
him to solicit the aid of an experienced pilot, 
who had indeed -that very morning proffered 
to go with him, but whom the sailor-lad, 
confident in his own powers, had gaily 
refused. 

For a long while I watched the little 
boat, and all went well. The wind and tide 
at first were favorable. And I marked 
with joy how one, and another, and yet 
another dangerous spot was passed in safety 
by the young, unheeding voyager. At last, 
however, when a bold, prominent headland 
was cleared, the wind died away to a mere 
breath. The tide was now at the lowest. 
The sail flapped against the mast; and a 
strong current bore the little vessel out of its 



12 THE REEF. 

course. A shade of vexation passed over the 
sailor-boy's countenance ; but he lowered his 
useless sail, and betook himself to his oars. 

Now for the first time he observed that his 
boat had sprung a leak. It was somewhere 
near the keel ; but with his utmost efforts he 
could not discover the exact spot. Perhaps 
he had grazed unawares some sharp sunken 
rock, or it might be some decayed plank 
admitted the oozing wave — he could not 
tell ; but the water, though very slowly, was 
evidently deepening in the bottom. He 
tried to bale it out with a bucket which he 
fortunately had with him; but though this 
for a while abated the danger, he was soon 
conscious that, notwithstanding his utmost 
efforts, the leak was steadily gaining on him 
instead of his gaining on the leak. What 
could he do ? He was already many miles 
from the land he had left, and he was quite 
sure his boat could not live to make that 
shore. He pressed his hands over his eyes 
for a few seconds in troubled thought ; when 



THE REEF. 13 

his now painfully anxious ear caught tlie 
sound of breakers; and looking steadily in 
the direction in which his boat was drifting, 
he plainly saw a reef of rocks, which at low 
tide was left dry. 

There was nothing else to be done. He 
continued his strenuous labor of baling. It 
was of no avail. The boat, water-logged as 
it was, was drifted by the strong current into 
the breakers — for you must note, though 
the wind had sunk, the heavy ground-swell 
that set upon the reef made the water 
broken and troubled. The tiny craft was 
just settling down when the boy sprang into 
the waves, and partly by swimming, partly 
by wading, not without many bruises, 
reached the ledge upon which, soon after, 
his boat was cast shivered and useless. 

Hapless boy, what could he do now ? A 
few hundred feet of barren rock were all that 
he could call his own; and this wretched 
lodgment would be covered by the advancing 
tide. He looked round ; some timbers from 



14 THE REEF. 

the wreck of a noble vessel were firmly- 
embedded in one cleft of the reef, and told, 
in language which he could read only too 
well, of some former terrible disaster. He 
thought of making a raft, and toiled long 
with a few old timbers, which with great 
difficulty he tore from the old wreck, and 
with the fragments of his shattered boat. 
But he was compelled to abandon the at- 
tempt; he lacked tools, he lacked skill, he 
lacked time. One hour and another passed. 
He became very hi^ngry, but the only food 
he had was an old biscuit, which had been . 
soaked when he cast himself into the sea, 
and was salt and nauseous ; and, far more, 
he became thirsty, terribly thirsty, and there 
was not a drop of fresh water on the reef. 
He cast his eye round the horizon : not a 
friendly sail was to be seen: nothing but 
the wide waste of ocean, and the sea-gulls 
sweeping through the sky. 

What could he do ? He had been noted 
among his companions as a very expert 



THE REEF. 15 

swimmer for his years. And though to any- 
one who knew those straits the attempt was 
perfect madness, the poor boy thought it was 
his only chance : — he might float or drift 
towards the shore : — he might be picked up 
by some passing vessel: — so with a heavy 
heart he stripped himself of his clothes and 
plunged into the sea on the side nearest the 
land from which he had started that morning 
so merrily. Happily for him, by the turn of 
the tide, the current now set dead towards 
the rocks. He could hardly make any way. 
By immense efforts he swam a few hundred 
yards from the reef, when he became quite 
exhausted, and, knowing he could not hold 
out much longer, he turned, and by the aid 
of the strong current regained, though with 
great difficulty, the now slippery edge of the 
reef, and, shaking in every limb, dressed 
himself once more, and laid himself down as 
if to die. 

I think he would have died but for a 
sudden heavy shower of rain. It slaked his 



16 THE REEF. 

parched lips ; it cooled his feverish thirst ; it 
prevented his giving way to utter despair. 
Yet another precious hour had passed, and 
his little island of rock was almost covered 
with the advancing tide. Suddenly the oar 
of his little boat, which had been washing 
among the waves, floated to his feet. As a 
last forlorn hope he tied his red kerchief to 
one end of the oar, and, raising it for a sig- 
nal, cried aloud for help. There was no 
answer but the sighing of the wind, which 
had now risen again, and the wild call of the 
sea-mew. Still he cried again and again; 
and, though his hands were very weary, he 
held up the signal of distress. But now the 
waves washed his feet: they covered his 
ankles : they rose to his knees. Seeing that 
the bare, gaunt framework of the wrecked 
vessel would afford him a little vantage- 
ground, he contrived to Avade to it, still 
holding up the oar with one hand. 

But the waters rose higher and higher: 
they reached his loins. His brave young 



THE BEEF. 17 

heart failed him (I am sure my heart mis- 
gave me for him) and his brain began to 
reel. He raised one faint last cry: — it was 
a very feeble cry — but I thought I caught 
the words, "Save me: I perish! 51 — when 
he heard — oh, no, he could not be mistaken 
— he heard a man's voice, though it sound- 
ed far away. It came again and again. It- 
nerved hiin to hold out a few minutes longer. 
And now he distinguished words bidding 
him cheer up and keep his head above the 
waters, which, with the aid of his oar, he 
contrived to do. And at last, for the min- 
utes seemed hours, he saw through the mist 
and spray of the breakers a boat approach- 
ing, and in it his true old friend, the pilot, 
whose company and skill he had so madly 
refused in the early morning. 

" Dear lad, will you come with me now ? " 
was the only question. The friendly hand 
was held out to him. He grasped it with 
the tenacity of a drowning boy, and was 
dragged into the safety-boat. It did my 

2 



18 THE BEEF. 

heart good to see how tenderly the pilot 
nursed him. There was no frown on his 
brow, no harsh look in his eye, no word of 
reproach on his lips. He was as gentle with 
the poor lad as any mother could have been. 
He stripped him of his dripping garments : 
he chafed his trembling limbs : he bound up 
the cuts and bruises, which he had received 
when dashed against the sharp rocks : he 
wrapped him in warm and dry apparel: he 
gave him a cordial which seemed fresh life : 
he persuaded him to take some nourishing 
food : until the poor lad wept, and thanked 
him with a voice broken with gratitude, and 
then, quite overcome, sank into a short, deli- 
cious slumber. 

He soon awoke, for the wind had fresh- 
ened. And now again the pilot asked him, 
" Will you trust me, dear lad, now, and 
work our boat under me to yonder shore ? '" 
The bright eye of the saved sailor-boy 
flashed the answer, before the words passed 
his lips — " Yes, master, yes; if you'll have 
me." 



THE REEF. 19 

He now looked more carefully at the boat, 
on board of which he thus found himself, and 
handled all its tackling and gear with ear- 
nest, inquisitive interest. It was built like a 
life-boat, being so constructed that it could 
not sink ; and it was provided with every 
requisite for storm or calm, for night or day, 
for repairing any damage that might occur, 
and for taking observations of the sun or 
stars. There was the little anchor with its 
strong but slender cable ; and, what the 
sailor-lad chiefly admired, a most beautiful 
compass, and in the chest beside it a roll of 
parchment, which was a chart accurately 
noting every sunken rock an! reef and shoal 
and sand-bank, indicating the prevalent set 
of the currents, and marking the distances 
of the various tracks across the straits from 
shore to shore. Seeing him bending over it, 
the pilot took occasion to instruct and exam- 
ine him in the use of this compass and chart; 
nor did he desist, until he found the boy 
could tell him how they ought to hold the 



20 THE REEF. 

rudder and shift the sail under every combi- 
nation of wind and tide. Indeed, they had 
much close conversation together. The pilot 
told him how he had guided scores and 
scores of voyagers over these straits, not one 
of whom had failed of safely reaching the 
opposite coast. He told him also the sad 
story of the vessel to the wreck of which the 
boy had clung, and of many a noble ship 
which had been cast away in these perilous 
waters. He also spoke in most glowing 
words of the beauty of the further shore. 

All this converse was held while they both 
were diligently at work, for it must not be 
supposed the boy all this time was idle. 
The pilot continually called him, as he said, 
to lend a hand. But it was pleasant work 
under such a master. For the boy could not 
but mark the wondrous skill with which the 
pilot used the rising wdnd, how he availed 
himself of the changing currents, how he 
avoided every rock, and threaded his way 
through the deceptive shallows. Many a 



THE REEF. 21 

sudden squall of wind fell on them, but the 
pilot always discerned indications of these 
gusts beforehand ; they tacked on their 
course, or reefed the sail, and all was well. 
Often it seemed to the boy the vexing squall 
had hastened their voyage. Indeed he him- 
self was rapidly learning his master's art. 

They had hitherto steered by a lofty 
mountain on the opposite coast, to which the 
pilot had early directed the eye of the boy. 
But once it chanced, though it proved only 
for a short half -hour, they were wrapped in 
the sudden mist of a sea-fog. Then the pilot 
closely and anxiously consulted the compass 
and chart — and when the fog cleared they 
found they had been steering quite rightly, 
though they had shortened sail, lest una- 
wares they should fall among breakers. 

But the sun was slowly sloping to the west 
ere they sighted the white cliffs, which 
guarded the entrance on this side and on 
that of the haven to which they were bound. 
The time seemed long to the boy, who 



22 THE KEEF. 

longed to be on that shore of which the pilot 
had spoken such excellent things — though 
they were really making very good progress. 
However, the evening twilight fell upon 
them, when they were yet two or three 
leagues from the shore. But then the har- 
bor lights were kindled, and a more favor- 
able breeze than any they had had the whole 
voyage before sprang up and bore them 
swiftly on their way — and at length, though 
the last few waves were the roughest, to the 
boy's inexpressible delight they shot into the 
haven. They were now at rest. There 
were no waves in that tranquil harbor. 
And very soon they moored themselves with 
their grappling-iron to the massive pier ; and 
the pilot himself led the boy he had rescued 
that day from a watery grave to a magnifi- 
cent mansion, which far surpassed in its 
beauty and delights his fondest and most 
ardent anticipations. 



ox^o 



THE REEF. 2o 

OUCH was the parable which an old 
white-haired pastor, whose name was 
Obeiiin, told to a group of his grandchildren 
one Sabbath evening. I must introduce you 
to this little circle. There was the thought- 
ful Aimee, a lovely girl of nearly fourteen 
summers ; her twin brothers, the somewhat 
pensive Adolphe -and the merry-hearted 
Gustave, aged twelve years ; and, lastly, 
the blue-eyed, flaxen-haired Roschen, whose 
ninth birthday had been kept the day before ; 
she was everyone's darling. Oberlin was 
himself of Huguenot extraction ; but his son, 
whom God had early called to rest from his 
labors, had married a German lady, and she 
had joined her sainted husband in the pres- 
ence of Jesus when her infant, the sweet 
Roschen, who bore her name, was barely 
three years old. The children, therefore, 
were brought up in their grandfather's home, 
which was on the lovely coast of South 
Devon, being watched, and tended, and 



24 THE EEEF. 

nursed with almost a mother's care by an 
aged nurse, named Marie, who was as much 
a part of the family as any member of it. 
The Oberlins had, indeed, for so many gen- 
erations now found a home in England that 
they all esteemed it their fatherland, while 
yet you could not but trace the irrepressible 
vivacity of the French character blended 
with the imaginative cast of German thought 
in the children. It had been Oberlin's cus- 
tom for many years to give them a story or 
parable, sometimes from Holy Writ, some- 
times from the " Pilgrim's Progress," or 
some like allegory, which he expected them 
to explain or prove by their Bibles, every 
Sunday evening And now he had promised 
them a new series of stories, to which they 
looked forward with most eager interest. 

When he had finished reading " The 
Reef," they drew a deep breath, and one 
and all exclaimed, " 0, grandfather, what 
a delightful story ! " 

" Well, my children," replied the old man, 



THE REEF. 25 

with a beaming eye, "I am glad you like 
my tale ; but can you tell me what it all 
means?" 

" Grandfather," said Aim£e, " while you 
were reading I could not help thinking of 
the prayer we all prayed for Robin's little 
baby [Robin, be it known, was the gar- 
dener] at the font this afternoon, that she, 
being received into the ark of Christ's 
church, might so pass the waves of this 
troublesome world that finally she might 
come to the land of everlasting life." 

"I am glad you thought of those words," 
said Oberlin ; "the figure of the voyage is 
just the same, though there we speak of a 
mighty ark, and my story told of a little 
boat. They are both true, only we cannot 
grasp all truth at one time. What do 
you understand, Adolphe, by the stormy 
straits ? " 

" This short life," answered Adolphe, 
" which separates time from eternity." 

" And what you, my Roschen, by the cliffs 



26 THE REEF. 

half hidden in mists from which the gaily- 
painted boat emerged?" 

" The land of babyhood and childhood, I 
suppose," replied Roschen, " where every 
thing looks so large and wonderful." 

" And what you, Gustave, by the sailor- 
boy who would set forth to cross those 
dangerous waters by himself?" 

44 Is it not one who hopes to get to heaven 
by himself — I mean by his own strength 
and wisdom ? ' : answered Gustave. " I 
hope, dear grandfather, you do not look so 
earnestly on me as if you thought I wished 
to do this — once I did, but I don't now." 

" No," said Oberlin, " I believe God has 
taught all my grandchildren now to seek 
and welcome the aid of the Good Pilot. But 
what do you think the sailor-boy's refusing 
the pilot's proffered assistance represents?" 

The children were silent. 

" Do you not think," continued Oberlin, 
44 that when Christian parents give their 
babes to Jesus, as your parents gave you, in 



THE REEF. 27 

His own covenant of baptism, as they grow 
out of infancj r into childhood Jesus comes to 
their hearts — yes, comes very often — and 
offers to be their teacher, and guardian, and 
guide ? Some welcome Him, but some, like 
the sailor-boy of our story, thoughtlessly but 
successfully refuse Him. But what do you 
understand by the boat passing safely so 
many dangerous spots, while it was under 
the shelter of the headland?" 

" Is it," said Adolphe, " that we are shel- 
tered from so many temptations here at 
home?" 

" It is," replied Oberlin ; " only remember, 
the time will come when you must pass from 
this sheltered spot to encounter the currents, 
and calms, and gusts, of this present evil 
world. What think you, however, the lad's 
discovery of that fatal leak somewhere near 
the keel of his little boat means?" 

" O, surely," said Gustave, with a deeper 
thoughtfulness of tone than before, " the 
first sense of sin and of danger." 



28 THE BEEF. 

" Quite right," said Oberliii. " What, 
then, is the attempt to bale out the water? " 

u Is it not," replied Adolphe, " the trying 
to overcome sin in our own might without 
Christ ? " 

" Yes, my boy," answered Oberlin. " And 
if so, then the boat filling with water despite 
all his efforts, and the poor lad being cast 
upon the reef, while his boat was broken up 
before his eyes, will show the utter failure 
of such struggles. Some make fatal ship- 
wreck on this rock, like the noble vessel 
whose skeleton framework the boy saw. 
Yet you remember the hope of saving him- 
self had not died in his bosom. First he 
toiled long to make a raft. This is like a 
poor sinner trying hard to get to heaven by 
his own good works. It cannot be ; they 
will not bear the weight of his soul. He 
will become very hungry and thirsty like 
the sailor-boy, and the whole world cannot 
give him the bread of life or slake his fever- 
ish thirst for everlasting joy. And if he 



THE REEF. 29 

makes a last effort, stripping himself of every 
earthly pleasure to merit salvation, as some 
self-righteous ones have sought to do in 
every age, it will be still of no avail. If he 
is to be saved at last, he must be driven back 
to self-despair. But such experience is not 
gained without many painful wounds and 
bruises." 

" Grandfather," asked little Roschen, " what 
is meant by the shower of rain which fell 
upon his parched lips ? Oh ! I was so glad 
for him." 

"Well," said Oberlin, "I think God's 
grace often secretly keeps the soul from 
utterly perishing, even before the heart has 
found peace in Christ. It seems to me to 
set forth this. And what do you under- 
stand,. Adolphe, by the boy tying his 
kerchief to the oar, and crying out for 
help ? " 

" Is it not prayer, grandfather? " answered 
Adolphe, " that strong prayer that goes on 
asking, and won't take a denial, of which 



30 THE REEF. 

you spoke to us last Sunday from Jacob's 
wrestling all night, who said, ' I will not let 
thee go except thou bless me ? " 

" Quite so," replied Oberlin ; " such prayer 
as Martin Luther said ' wrings a yea out of • 
God's nay' — not that our Father is unwil- 
ling to give, but that he would test the sin- 
cerity of those who ask. And as at last, 
when the sailor-boy had given up every other 
hope, the voice of the pilot was heard bid- 
ding him hold on and hold out, so Jesus will 
surely come to those who cry after Him, 
even though they may have for many years 
refused Him. And when He comes His only 
question is, ' Will you trust yourself to Me 
and My salvation ? ' He will not upbraid 
the sinner for all the past, but will tenderly 
heal, and nourish, and revive him till the 
soul is lost in loving wonder, and sinks down 
to rest in His bosom." 

" But, grandfather," said Aclolphe, " the 
voyage was far from over when the boy got 
on board the pilot's boat. While you were 



THE EEEF. 31 

reading, I guessed what so many things 
meant. The boat being a life-boat, which 
could not sink, I suppose signifies that no 
one who trusts in Christ can perish. Then 
is not the anchor hope ? And the compass 
and chart, whose use was explained by the 
pilot, the Bible which Jesus opens out to us 
by His Holy Spirit ? And the distant moun- 
tain peak by which they steered so long, a 
glimpse of heaven ? And when this was 
shut out by the fog-bank, and they were 
driven only to the compass and chart, the 
Christian cleaving to the promises when all 
seems dark ? And the pleasant talk which 
the pilot had with the boy regarding the 
voyage and the land to which they were 
going, our speaking to Jesus here, and hear- 
ing from Him of His Father's house and 
kingdom ? " 

" You are quite, right my boy," replied 
Oberlin ; " I think almost every sentence of 
m} r story has some counterpart in the voyage 
of life. But what do you understand by the 



32 THE REEF. 

boy's working so diligently, if Jesus Christ 
has done all for us ? " 

"Oh!' grandfather," said Gustave, "is it 
not like the text you preached on this morn- 
ing : — c Work out your own salvation with 
fear and trembling, knowing that it is God 
which worketh in you to will and to do of 
His good pleasure?' I am sure it will be 
pleasant enough work with Jesus for our 
captain." 

" Gustave is quite right," said Oberlin. 
" Are we not called to watch and pray, to 
read and learn God's Word, to fight the good 
fight, to take up our cross, to keep under our 
body, to deny ourselves, to visit the sick, and 
help the poor ? All this will only be done 
and borne cheerfully, as we do and bear it 
for Jesus and with Jesus. But if He is with 
us and we with Him, then, as the pilot steered 
his boat safely through every toil and peril, 
and even availed himself of the gusts and 
squalls to hasten their voyage, so our Mas- 
ter's presence will lighten every toil, and 



THE REEF. 33 

teach us to escape dangers on the right hand 
and the left, and even enable us to use the 
troubles of time to further our heavenward 
course, and at last, as our martyred fore- 
fathers used to sing : — 

' Be the day weary or be the day long, 
At length it ringeth to Evensong.' 

They sighted the haven at last." 

" What does it mean, dear grandfather," 
asked Aimee, " by the evening twilight fall- 
ing on them, when they were yet two or 
three leagues from the shore?" 

" Failing strength or advancing years," 
said Oberlin, with a happy, tranquil smile, 
" before the rest is won. But often the toil 
is eased at the last, and a favoring breeze 
bears the soul onward swiftly towards the 
haven. The lights on the shore are seen ; 
and though there may be some rough waves 
in the saint's last illness, some sharp pain 
or weary struggles, the time is then very 



34 THE REEF. 

short ; and soon, very soon, he will be borne 
into the harbor of everlasting peace, and go 
to the Palace Home of the King, to be with 
Him for ever." 




AYEHDAJL 



MUST give you a 
-_'•"_- ' I story to-day from 

; ™ the closing chapters 
Jj>^ \ :^--_ of Avehdah. 
|H]Jj|^ A v e h d a h — i n 

tffir ;;5 very ancient times 
called Shulam — was 
a large and beautiful 
island, larger than 
England, and was 
situate in the wide ocean, many hundred 
miles away from the nearest continent. It 
was clothed with noble forests, in which 
grew almost every kind of fragrant and 
fruitful tree. It was intersected by solemn 
mountains, whose snowy peaks seemed to 




36 AVEHDAH. 

mingle with the blue heavens into which they 
climbed ; and from the glaciers and springs 
of these mountains there flowed many rapid 
crystal rivers to the purple sea. It was alto- 
gether a delightsome land, and was owned 
by the mightiest monarch of the continent, 
who was so fond of its beauty and freshness 
that he designed it for a marriage portion for 
his only son. In the records of Avehdah this 
monarch is called the King, and his son the 
Prince. 

The island had been originally peopled by 
a hardy, truthful, and affectionate race. The 
easy tribute of fruits and spices and gems — 
for Avehdah abounded not only, as I said, 
with fruit trees, but with all aromatic shrubs, 
and also with precious stones — was cheer- 
fully and punctually delivered to the royal 
merchants. The voice of song was heard 
from every home, and it seemed that the 
peaceful inhabitants were as happy and 
secure as the peerless isle in which they 
dwelt. 



AVEHDAH. 37 

But the event proved far otherwise. For 
a cruel, crafty enemy of the King, a satrap 
who had revolted from his sway, and had 
already usurped a vast dominion far stretch- 
ing towards the north, fixed his baleful 
regards on Avehdah, and determined if pos- 
sible to wrest it from the sceptre of its right- 
ful sovereign. This usurper's name was 
Abaddon, or "the destroyer." He knew 
that to accomplish his purpose would be 
impossible so long as the simple-hearted 
dwellers in that land were true to their 
allegiance. He therefore came over at first 
in disguise, with a few like-minded associ- 
ates ; and under pretence of trafficking in 
the island — by offering rich vestments of a 
foreign manufacture, and vessels embossed 
with many a strange device, in exchange for 
the simple produce of their gardens and vine- 
yards—he so ingratiated himself with the 
people that they freely admitted him to their 
hearts and homes. 

Abaddon was in ecstasy of delight at his 



38 AVEHDAH. 

success. This, however, he carefully con- 
cealed, and only spoke of himself as one who 
longed to raise those among whom he was 
sojourning to a far higher standard of knowl- 
edge and enjoyment. And it was only very 
gradually, and with consummate skill, that 
he and his comrades began to insinuate ques- 
tionings and doubts as to the wisdom and 
goodness of the King. " It w^as long, very 
long since their monarch had set foot on their 
shores.*' " Surely, if he cared for it so 
much, he would visit them more frequently." 
" What, after all, was his claim to the sover- 
eignty over an isle which lay so far away from 
his own dominions?" " Why should they 
send away the choicest of their fruits and spices 
and jewels to a land from which they never 
returned?" "It is true the King spoke of 
his son fixing his home here ; but the promise 
was still delayed." " Would it not be better 
to have a ruler of their own choice, and at 
once ? " 

These words of Abaddon sank into the 



AVEHDAH. 39 

hearts of the people of Avehdah. It was all 
in vain that the royal merchants and collec- 
tors of tribute warned them of his true char- 
acter. The islanders resented what they 
called base and baseless suspicions. They 
entered into daily closer league with their 
new friends ; until Abaddon thought he 
might safely send for a larger body of his 
adherents. They came in troops, and brought 
all the munitions of war with them ; but 
these were hidden from view in countless 
bales of merchandise. New tastes for foreign 
goods were rapidly springing up among the 
people. 

Well, years rolled on, and still the follow- 
ers of Abaddon increased in number ; until, 
little by little, he had introduced a vast army 
into that island. Then at last he threw off 
the mask. Partly by persuasion, partly by 
suspicion, partly, as he waxed stronger, by 
threats, he induced the nobles and elders of 
the people to raise the standard of revolt, 
and to refuse any longer to pay the appointed 



40 AVEHDAH. 

tribute. Shortly after, by the aid of his 
emissaries, who were dispersed all over the 
land, Abaddon caused himself to be elected 
the governor of Avehdah. And now, to 
rivet his dominion more closely, he changed 
both times and laws. He abolished the 
former sacred clays in which the people had 
rested from their easy toil, alleging that every 
day was alike their own, for pleasure or for 
work. He loosened by degrees all the ties 
of kinship. Children no longer cherished 
the same respect for their parents, nor neigh- 
bor for neighbor, nor friend for friend. " Let 

EVERY MAN DO WHAT IS EIGHT IN HIS OWN 

eyes," was proclaimed as the Magna Charta 
of the island. Soon worse evils forced an 
entrance ; distrust bred faction ; and faction, 
feuds ; and feuds, violence. Deeds of rapine 
and of wrong were done. The soil of Aveh- 
dah was for the first time stained with the 
blood of murder. And now you might hear, 
as evening deepened into night, the cries 
of injured innocence from hamlets whence 



AVEHDAH. 41 

once ascended only the songs of overflowing 

joy. 

These were dark days for Avehdah. For 
now the soldiers of Abaddon began to show 
themselves in their true colors. They tram- 
pled on every thing that was good. They 
maltreated all who opposed them. They 
compelled many of the islanders — women 
and children as well as men — to work in 
dark and gloomy mines, which their restless 
avarice discovered among the mountains. 
Over these miners and their families they 
appointed hard taskmasters. What deeds of 
cruelty and crime were wrought in those 
dark abysses of the earth I cannot and dare 
not tell. For the soldiers of the governor 
encouraged every vice, and jeered at every 
remnant of virtue. One thing I marked, 
they seemed to infuse into the bosoms of 
their victims their own insatiable greed of 
lucre. 

Then it was that the royal merchants first 
called the island " Avehdah," which signifies 



42 AVEHDAH. 

in the Hebrew tongue " that which was lost ;" 
for its former name " Shulam," or " she that 
is at peace," was dropped by universal con- 
sent, and never heard of more. 

You must not think, however, that all this 
while the King was careless of the high dis- 
honor which had been done to his authority, 
or to the deep miseries into which the dwel- 
lers of Avehdah had plunged themselves. 
He sent them messengers after messengers, 
who expostulated with them, sometimes in 
the strongest, sometimes in the tenderest 
terms. Nor were their warnings and en- 
treaties altogether fruitless. Some of the 
islanders welcomed them, and pledged their 
faith anew to the King, and entered into a 
solemn league to oppose Abaddon and his 
soldiers to the uttermost. These faithful 
ones were few and far between compared 
with the teeming myriads of the revolted 
inhabitants ; yet some were never wanting in 
every province, nor was their testimony ever 
altogether silenced. 



AVEHDAH. 43 



Al taddon's most strenuous efforts were 
directed to intercept these messengers, and 
to pervert, or. if he could not pervert, to 
destroy, those who gave heed to them. He 
denounced them as his enemies. He beat. 
he imprisoned, he put them to death. In- 
deed, for manv Ions: vears it was a state of 
suppressed civil war in the unhappy island 
of Avehdah. 

There was a time when the usurper fondly 
imagined he had succeeded in establishing 
his undisputed sway. All open opposition 
seemed crushed. There were secret servants 
of the King in all ranks, of whom Abaddon 
knew not, and the murmurs of serfs and 
groans of prisoners did not seem worth his 
regarding. But then (so I have read in the 
chronicles of the island), when he was boast- 
ing most loudly of his success, tidings were 
brought to his court which troubled him 
greatly. It was announced that the Prince. 
laying aside his royal estate, had landed from 
a little boat on the shore of Avehdah, and 



44 AYEHDAH. 

was himself passing quietly from home to 
home among his true-hearted subjects, and 
giving them tokens of his royal approval. 

What happened at that eventful time be- 
longs altogether to another chapter of A veil- 
dah's story, nor must I enter on it now. 
Suffice it to say that the Prince met Abad- 
don face to face and rebuked him. And 
though he was afterwards seized by the 
rebels and soldiers and suffered foul indig- 
nities at their hands, he broke loose from the 
prison in which they immured him. Nor did 
he leave the island till he had confirmed all 
his faithful ones in their allegiance, and 
banded them together in a common covenant 
to fight against the usurper and his hosts in 
a panoply of proof, which he told them his 
messengers would always be ready to sup- 
ply from a secret arsenal in the metropolis. 
Moreover, he solemnly promised them that, 
when he had been proclaimed as heir of the 
island by his father, he would return with 
an overwhelming army and take possession 



AVEHDAH. 45 

of his rightful inheritance. He said that he 
could not tell them exactly what day, or 
month, or year, he should return, for this 
depended on the will of his royal father and 
the counsel they should hold together. But 
he said that, when he came, he would cer- 
tainly bind Abaddon and his hosts in chains 
from which they should never be loosed, and 
consign them to a penal fortress, in a far-off 
land, from whence they should never escape. 
He said, moreover, that those of the island- 
ers who cast in their lot with Abaddon 
now, and refused all the messages of the 
royal clemency, must share the doom of the 
rebel satrap then ; but that he himself would 
reward his true followers with large and last- 
ing recompense from the boundless treasury 
of his father. 

As aforesaid, I do not profess to give you 
the whole history of the wars of Avehdah. 
The records are very interesting ; but they 
fill many volumes. For after the departure 
of the Prince the intestine war between the 



46 AVEHDAH. 

hosts of Abaddon on the one side, aided and 
abetted as they were by the revolted islanders, 
and the scattered but brave and ever-increas- 
ing adherents of the Prince on the other, 
became sharper than ever. The conflict was 
waged with very varying success. Now, for 
a while, a secluded valley would be entirely 
occupied by the Prince's loyal subjects, and 
they would persuade those on every side to 
embrace the same righteous cause. Then, 
not seldom, a legion of the usurper's soldiers 
would come and violently take possession 
of the valley, slaughtering or capturing its 
inhabitants. Yet it was generally observed 
that the flame of devotion to the Prince, if 
apparently crushed in one spot, burst forth 
anew and unexpectedly in many surrounding 
places. And, what is worthy of especial 
note, immediately after the Prince's return 
to his father's court, his personal friends, by 
dint of heroic courage, effected a lodgment 
in one quarter of the metropolis of Avehdah. 
Nor could Abaddon, with all his power and 



AVEHDAH. 47 

subtlety, drive them out, for they were sup- 
plied with armor from the royal arsenal, 
which his boldest warriors could not with- 
stand. What rendered this of the more 
importance was, that quarter of the city 
embraced a small haven, by which continual 
intercourse was kept up with the King's 
country, and supplies received, though from 
time to time the cruisers of the enemy cap- 
tured some of the smaller craft. But here 
and elsewhere many acts of dauntless intre- 
pidity were wrought, all of which were re- 
ported by the royal merchants to the King. 
Well, so years passed on. But the hearts 
of the Prince's servants in Avehdah grew 
faint and weary, and when they computed 
the long time that had elapsed, they hardly 
knew how to answer the contemptuous ques- 
tion which was ever on the lips of their 
taunting foes : " Where is the promise of 
his coming?" They did answer in his own 
words, for he had sent them several letters 
in his own handwriting and sealed with his 



43 AVEHDAH. 

own signet : " The time is short ; he will 
surely come ; he will not tarry ; " but the 
reply was not seldom uttered with a trem- 
bling voice. However, after many seasons 
had passed and gone, vessels of war bearing 
the royal flag were more frequently observed 
on the far horizon ; and the watchword, " He 
cometh quickly," was passed continually 
from one to another of his servants. Still 
days and weeks rolled on, and he came not. 
The usurper Abaddon redoubled his dili- 
gence ; his troops were constantly on the 
alert ; he kept the more daring spirits among 
the islanders far away from the sea-coast, 
and tried to wear them down with incessant 
labor. Howbeit, from time to time a message 
reached the island through the city port; 
and the hope of the faithful inhabitants, 
though it often burned low, never went 
out. 

It was at this time (spring had given way 
to summer, and summer to autumn, and 
autumn had already passed into winter with 



AVEHDAH. 49 

its lonir nio-hts^ that a messenger of the 
King, with a band of true-hearted comrades 
clothed in armor of proof, breaking through 
the cordon of guards which surrounded the 
locality, made their perilous way in the fourth 
watch of the night through a deep defile of 
the mountains, and down a long cavernous 
passage, which led to a vast subterranean sil- 
ver mine. There a most melancholy specta- 
cle met their view. In that mine the miners 
were compelled to work in gangs or relays, 
day and night, so that the work never ceased. 
Accordingly at one spot men and women and 
children, all clothed in rags, might be seen 
hewing the rocky soil with pickaxes, or 
bending to the earth under heavy burdens, 
or smelting the ore in furnaces of suffocating 
heat ; while often the lash of the taskmaker 
was heard, and the answering groan of the 
hapless slave. At another spot large num- 
bers had sunk down in heavy slumber. Not 
far off from these a fierce dispute was raging 
among another group. And again a little 

4 



50 AVEHDAH. 

distance off there was a large knot of miners 
pointing with a sad pleasure to the heaps of 
precious metal they had obtained. 

Now, when he had gained a little vantage- 
ground in the midst of the mine, the mes- 
senger put a silver trumpet to his lips and 
blew a long and musical blast. It was 
strange, you may be sure, to hear such a 
sound in such a place. The echoes repeated 
themselves in the impenetrable gloom of the 
further recesses, and the whole cavern rang 
again with the unwonted strain. Most of 
the poor toiling laborers stood still to listen. 
Some of the sleepers awoke ; not all, — 
though the associates of the messenger laid 
their hands upon them, and even pushed 
them with their staves. Those who watched 
the heaps of silver ore clutched the barrows 
in which it was piled, as if they thought 
some one was come to deprive them of the 
fruit of their toil. And most of the angry 
disputants stilled their quarrel, as again and 
yet again the blasts of the silver trumpet 



AVEHDAH. 51 

reverberated through the mine. And when 
its latest echo died away, the voice of the 
messenger was distinctly heard proclaiming, 
TJie night is far spent ; the day is at hand. 
Cast off, therefore, the works of darkness ; and 
put on the armor of light. 

It is impossible here to narrate all the 
arguments which the messenger used; how 
he spoke to them of their present misery and 
degradation; how he unmasked the hideous 
character of the governor Abaddon ; how he 
charged them with the basest ingratitude in 
throwing off their allegiance to the best and 
most generous of monarchs ; how he assured 
them that the Prince had sent this latest 
embassy to certify them of a free pardon for 
all the past, and of a place among his own 
followers, if they would only now receive his 
overtures of grace ; how he set forth the 
high honor of being numbered with the 
Prince's servants and enrolled among his 
soldiers ; and, lastly, how he told them the 
time for decision was short, very short, for 



52 AVEHDAH. 

the Prince was at hand with his father's irre- 
sistible army ; but the messenger ended even 
as he began — The night is far spent ; the 
day is at hand. Cast off, therefore, the works 
of darkness ; and put on the armor of light. 

Thereupon the messenger and his compan- 
ions opened out to the wondering eyes of 
these poor enslaved miners chests of white 
apparel and of gleaming armor, which they 
had brought with them. And now it was 
a goodly sight to see one and another of 
these long-oppressed and degraded ones 
throwing down the pickaxe and shovel, cast- 
ing off their miserable rags, and clothing 
themselves with the beautiful uniform and 
panoply of the King. The father encour- 
aged the son to come, and the son the 
father ; a brother persuaded his brother, and 
a friend his friend. And it was said to the 
women and children that there was a part 
for them to bear, so they likewise were clad 
in raiment and armor suitable to their 
strength and tender years. 



AVEHDAH. 53 

Oh, would that all had enrolled themselves 
among the Prince's followers at the royal 
messenger's invitation that morning ! But 
not a few replied that they had become 
accustomed to the mine now, and did not 
care to leave it. Some would not awake ; 
though shaken and aroused, they muttered 
as men in a half-dream. Yet a little sleep, a 
little slumber, a little folding of the hands to 
sleep. Some answered, We will settle the 
matters we have in dispute with our com- 
rades first, and will then accept this invita- 
tion. Others roundly affirmed they would 
never quit the heaps of silver they had so 
laboriously gathered. Indeed only two or 
three came forward from that group, and 
they not without many a sharp pang as they 
looked back on their forsaken hoards. And 
many, when urged again and again, replied, 
Go thy way for this time : to-morrow we 
will come ; why should you think the Prince 
will come to-day ? Come to-morrow, and 
we will handle that brave armor and put on 



54 AVEHDAH. 

that beautiful apparel. Persuasions were 
useless : that one word " to-morrow " blunted 
every appeal. 

However, a goodly band of nearly a hun- 
dred souls gathered round the trumpeter, 
and enrolled their names in his book, and 
pledged themselves to fight for the Prince. 
These were all clad in white robes, and fur- 
nished with armor of proof. And now the 
messenger led them forth from the dark 
mine. The morning was just flushing the 
eastern horizon with a faint tinge of pearl. 
A troop of Abaddon's forces had mustered 
to oppose their escape, and attacked them 
as soon as they emerged from the cavern. 
More wounds were received than given, for 
they were unskilful in the art of sword and 
shield. But though it was a sore conflict for 
such inexperienced soldiers, the trumpet note 
was continually sounding — " The time is 
short;" and, led by the messenger and his 
comrades, the emancipated slaves acquitted 
themselves bravely, and fought their way to 



AVEHDAH. 55 

a small encampment of friends which was 
situate on a neighboring hill. 

These allies, who welcomed them heartily, 
they found in a state of most eager joy. For 
no less than three couriers had arrived, in as 
many hours that morning, announcing that 
the Prince's fleet was lying off the shores of 
Avehdah, and that the sea, far as the eye 
could reach, was covered with the snowy 
sails of his countless vessels of war. Each 
courier brought a letter in the Prince's own 
handwriting. The first simply contained the 
words, " Behold, I come quickly." The 
second was somewhat longer, and ran thus, 
" Behold, I come quickly, and my reward is 
with me to give every man according as his 
work shall be." And the third was to the 
same effect as the first, " Surely, I come 
quickly;" only this courier said that he was 
ordered to ask for some answer to the gra- 
cious message of the Prince. So, after a 
short consultation, it was determined to re- 
ply in terms which might be a humble and 



56 AVEHDAH. 

reverent echo to his own words, " So be it: 
even so, come, Lord, come." 

This reply, therefore, with the full consent 
of those so recently set free from the mine, 
was hastily written and despatched. All 
cordially consented to it ; only some looked 
sad when they remembered how long they 
had served the base usurper, and how short 
a time they had been enrolled in the King's 
army, until they recalled again the messen- 
ger's assurance that all the past should be 
forgiven : then their countenances again 
grew serene and bright. And others felt 
grieved at heart when they thought on their 
companions in the mine, who had refused 
every entreaty. However, there was no 
time now to renew the invitation. Things 
moved on with a strange rapidity that day. 
For it seemed the last courier had scarcely 
time to reach the coast, when tidings were 
brought that the fleet was casting anchor in 
a spacious bay ; and, an hour after, that the 
Prince himself, surrounded with a noble staff 



AVEHDAH. 57 

of officers, had landed. And so, indeed, it 
was ; nor had the sun sunk beneath the 
western waves before his whole army was 
safely disembarked, and his standard raised 
on the shores of Avehdah. 

I must not dwell on all that followed ; 
how the hosts of Abaddon, after a faint, inef- 
fectual resistance, fled, overwhelmed with 
terror ; how the usurper was taken captive 
in the midst of his stricken followers, and 
loaded with chains ; how the whole land was 
subdued under the sceptre of the Prince ; 
what just and terrible punishment he in- 
flicted on his guilty enemies, and on those 
who had persisted in their rebellion : and 
what magnificent rewards and tokens of his 
royal favor, such as lands, and titles of 
honor, and priceless treasures, and positions 
of trust near himself, he imgradmigly and 
unsparingly bestowed on his faithful ser- 
vants. It was dehghtful to see how the 
Prince made himself one with them in all 
their joys, how he consoled them for all the 



58 AVEHDAH. 

sorrows they had endured for his name's 
sake, and how he employed them according 
to the capacity of each in his recovered 
dominion. 

Now was that beautiful island itself again ; 
nay, it recovered more than its former glory, 
for the Prince made it his especial kingdom. 
Indeed, his nuptials were celebrated here ac- 
cording to his father's first design. I must 
not attempt to describe the joy of that lofty 
bridal. One thing only I record : on that 
day it was ordered by royal proclamation and 
blowing of trumpets, that the island should 
no longer be called Avehdah, or " that which 
is lost," but Beulah, which signifies " mar- 
ried," and that the metropolis where he fixed 
his palace home should henceforth be named 
Hephzibah, that is, "My delight is in her." 

"V\ 7HEN the venerable Oberlin had fin- 
ished his story, he looked round on 
the bright eager faces of the children Aimee, 



AYEHDAH. 59 

Adolplie and his twin brother Gustave, and 
the darling Roschen, as if he expected an 
immediate shower of questions as to the 
meaning of his parable. Nor would he have 
had many moments to wait, only Marie, the 
old nurse, who had been admitted to the little 
group of listeners at her own earnest request, 
anticipated all by saying, " May I make so 
bold, sir, as to ask whether all this really 
happened or not? For I thought, as you 
were speaking, my master, be sure, got that 
from one of the brass bound vellum folios 
that take up all the lowest shelf of the study 
bookcase." 

" Not quite, good Marie, from either Chrys- 
ostom or Augustine," replied Oberlin smiling. 
" But we will try and make out together by 
the aid of our Bibles whether something very 
like this is not happening every day in the 
history of Christ's church militant here on 
earth. What, my children, do you under- 
stand by the large, beautiful island, Avehdah, 
or Shulam, as it was first called? " 



60 AVEHDAH. 

" The island," said Aimee, " must mean 
our world, which God created so pure and 
lovely that it is said, ' God saw every thing 
that He had made, and, behold, it was very 
good.' " ! 

" And the King, then," said Gustave, 
"must represent God, who owns and gov- 
erns the world." 

" And the Prince," said little Roschen, " is 
of course the Lord Jesus Christ. I soon saw 
that." 

"And the revolted satrap, Abaddon," 
added Adolphe, " can only be the devil, who 
was a murderer from the beginning, and abode 
not in the truth. 2 I remembered the name, 
as soon as I heard it, occurring in Revelation. 
Here it is, ' And they had a king over them, 
which is the angel of the bottomless pit, 
whose name in the Hebrew tongue is Abad- 
don, but in the Greek tongue hath his name 
Apollyon.' 3 And the meaning is given in the 
margin, 'that is to say, a destroyer.'" 

1 Gen. i. 31. 2 j hn viii. 44. 3 R e v. ix. 11. 



AVEHDAH. 61 

" But before we pass on," inquired Oberlin, 
81 what think you is meant by the easy tribute 
of fruits and spices and jewels, which the 
inhabitants rendered to the King, before 
Abaddon came among them?" 

" Are they not," answered Adolphe, after 
a little pause, "the thoughts and words and 
acts of loving praise which our Father in 
heaven requires from all his children?" 

" Quite right," replied Oberlin, with a 
beaming look of approval. " And what can 
be easier or more delightful for His children 
to render? Do you remember that even 
Satan confesses this, in the lines of Milton, 
which you repeated to me last week? — 

' Ah, wherefore ? He deserved no such return 
From me, whom He created what I was 
In that bright eminence, and with his good 
Upbraided none : nor was His service hard. 
What could be less than to afford Him praise, 
The easiest recompense, and pay Him thanks, 
How due ? vet all this good proved ill in me/ 

And so, alas, it proved in the poor islanders 
of Avehdah. What do you understand by 



62 AVEHDAH. 

Abaddon, coming over so subtly at first, and 
stealing the hearts of the people by vessels 
of curious device and promises of freedom? " 

" Why, sir," interposed Marie, " I think I 
see that now: it was the serpent tempting 
Adam and Eve with the fruit in the garden, 
and promising them that they should be as 
gods if they would only eat it." 

" Quite so, Marie," replied Oberlin, " and 
then you know how when once our first 
parents gave the devil a foothold in their 
hearts, the evil spread apace. As men mul- 
tiplied, sin multiplied. Sin entered into the 
world and death by sin. The land was as 
the garden of Eden before them, and behind 
them a desolate wilderness ; until the whole 
earth, which God created pure, was filled 
with violence." 

" Grandfather," said Aimee, " who are 
meant by the royal merchants and the King's 
messengers? " 

" Let us take the royal merchants first, my 
children," ansAvered Oberlin. " Will one of 



AVEHDAH. 63 

you read Gen. iii. 24 ; and another Gen. 
xxviii. 12 ; and another Matt, xviii. 10 ; and 
another Heb.'i. 14?" 

Aimee reads, " And God placed at the east 
of the garden of Eden cherubims, and a flam- 
ing sword which turned every way, to keep 
the way of the tree of life." 

Adolphe reads, " And Jacob dreamed, and 
behold a ladder set-up on the earth, and the 
top of it reached to heaven : and behold the 
angels of God ascending and descending on 
it." 

Roschen reads, " Take heed that ye despise 
not one of these little ones : for I say unto 
you, That in heaven their angels do always 
behold the face of my Father which is in 
heaven." 

Gustave reads, " Are they not all minister- 
ing spirits, sent forth to minister to the heirs 
of salvation? " 

" So you see, my children," continued 
Oberlin, " the Bible tells us of a constant 
intercourse betwixt heaven and earth from 



64 AVEHDAH. 

the fall to the present hour, by means of 
angels. I think, then, that angels may be 
well signified by the royal merchants." 

" And the King's messengers," said Adol- 
phe, " must surely be the prophets and apos- 
tles and evangelists, for I have turned to that 
verse you pointed out to us the other day — 
' And the Lord God of their fathers sent to 
them by His messengers, rising up betimes, 
and sending ; because He had compassion on 
His people, and on His dwelling-place. ' " l 

" You are right," answered Oberlin, 
" though the word angels, being interpreted, 
signifies messengers ; and though these celes- 
tial couriers have often brought God's mes- 
sages to man, as we read both in the Old 
and the New Testaments, yet our Father 
generally employs human lips to utter His 
words. How I long to know, Adolphe, if 
you will ever be able to use the words your- 
self, ' We are ambassadors for Christ, as 
though God did beseech you by us : we pray 

1 2 Chron. xxxvi. 15. 



AVEHDAH. 65 

you in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to 
God.' 1 But we must hasten on. What 
shall we say of those few faithful adherents 
to the King's cause, whom the messengers 
sought out in every province of Avehdah? " 

" O grandfather," said Gustave, " as you 
spoke of them, I could not help thinking of 
the Lord's answer to Elijah, when he com- 
plained, ' I, even I, only am left,' and God 
said to him, ; Yet have I left me seven thou- 
sand in Israel, all the knees which have not 
bowed unto Baal, and every mouth which 
hath not kissed him.'" 2 

" Yes," continued Aimee, " and did not 
the time when Abaddon fondly thought he 
had crushed the witnesses for the truth, 
mean the long ages between the captivity 
of Jerusalem and the birth of our Saviour ? 
Oh, I am so often glad that I did not live 
then. I think they must have been almost 
the gloomiest times the world ever knew." 

" How I wish, grandfather," said Roschen, 

1 2 Cor. v. 20. 2 1 Kings xix. 18. 

5 



66 AVEHDAH. 

44 you had not passed oyer that chapter of 
Avehdah's story which told of the Prince's 
first visit, when he came without his royal 
robes or retinue. I thought the little boat 
was like the manger of Bethlehem. But I 
shall coax you to read me that chapter one 
day." 

" O Roschen," interrupted Gustave, " you 
do not understand that all is not written in 
a parable. Grandfather only meant us to 
think what would have been in it, if it had 
been written. I suppose the prison from 
which the Prince broke loose was the grave 
from which Jesus rose, and his charge to his 
servants, before he left them, the last words 
of the Saviour before He ascended to His 
Father's right hand." 

44 Roschen and I," said Oberlin, " will have 
a talk alone some day about that omitted 
chapter of the story of Avehdah. But now, 
what is meant by the checkered success of 
the long war that followed the Prince's de- 
parture ? " 



AVEHDAH. 67 

" Is it not," said Aimee, " the history of 
the last eighteen hundred years — Christi- 
anity now apparently conquering whole cities 
and countries, and now apparently itself 
conquered and driven from them?" 

" It is," replied Oberlin. " What can be 
more affecting than to think of the once 
flourishing churches of Jerusalem, and An- 
tioch, and Ephesus, and Corinth, and Car- 
thage, and then to reflect what they are 
now ? But the gates of hell have never pre- 
vailed against Christ's holy Church universal, 
and in every age our dear Master has had 
His faithful witnesses — sometimes few and 
feeble- — who have borne testimony to the 
truth, and looked for His promised return. 
Their hearts have often been faint and 
weary; but the Church has still held fast 
to her early creed, ; He shall come again with 
gkny to judge both the quick and the dead, 
whose kingdom shall have no end.' But 
what say you to the messenger's visit to the 
silver mine among the mountains, and gather- 



68 AVEHDAH. 

ing a troop of soldiers from those poor en- 
slaved miners on the very eve of the Prince's 
return ? " 

"Grandfather," said Adolphe, "is it not 
what ministers are doing in our own day, 
when they call men to overcome this present 
evil world, and fight the good fight of 
faith ? " 

" It is, Adolphe, it is," replied Oberlin, 
with emotion. " For is not the gaining of 
this world, its pleasures and honors and 
riches, as the soul's portion, a hard slavery ? 
Men toil early and late, and heap up treasures, 
but they cannot tell who shall gather them. 
Then often they fall a-wrangling over the 
possessions they have so laboriously won. 
And many are so weary and worn out, they 
have no heart left to listen to the voice of 
Jesus. And others, who have gained the 
world, seem only bent on grasping it tightly 
and more tightly, as the time draws nearer 
when they must go and stand before God. I 
know this has always been so from the begin- 



AVEHDAH. 69 

ning, but it seems to me more and more the 
character of these last days." 

" Do you think then, grandfather," asked 
Aim^e, " that these are the very last days, 
and that the Prince is so very near?" 

" Of the day and hour of His return, my 
child," answered Oberlin, "knoweth no man. 
But surely there are signs enough to make 
us think very often and seriously of the words 
of Jesus, c When these things begin to come 
to pass, then look up, and lift up your heads ; 
for your redemption draweth nigh.' 1 The 
royal herald's trumpet-call in the depth of 
the cavern, ' The night is far spent, the day 
is at hand,' has had its counterpart in the 
wide-spread preaching of the Second Advent 
of our Lord in these latter times. And I 
often think we may expect a great ingather- 
ing of guests to the King's supper-table from 
the streets and lanes of the city, and from 
the highways and hedges of the country, just 
before the Bridegroom comes, and the door 

1 Luke xxi. 28. 



70 AVEHDAH. 

is shut. But what Scriptures do you think 
bear out the different issues of the herald's 
invitation ? " 

" I thought of the prophet's cry, ' Who 
hath believed our report ? ' " 1 said Gustave. 

" And I, of John Baptist's voice," said 
Aclolphe, " 4 Prepare ye the way of the 
Lord.'" 2 

" And I," said Roschen, " of the words of 
Jesus, in my favorite story of the Ten Vir- 
gins — ' At midnight there was a cry made, 
Behold the Bridegroom cometh, go ye out 
to meet him.' " 3 

" That does not answer to the hours at 
all, Roschen," said Gustave. " One was 
early morning, the other midnight." 

" Ah, my children," interposed Oberlin, 
" the world's midnight may be the Church's 
morning. But who are signified by those 
miners who obeyed the messenger and 
ranged themselves on his side ? And what 
is meant by the white apparel and the 

l Isa. liii. 1. 2 Luke Hi. 4. 3 Matt. xxv. 6. 



AVEHDAH. 71 

gleaming armor of proof which they put 
on?" 

u Surely, grandfather," said Aimee, " they 
are all who obey the glad tidings of salva- 
tion, and make the promise of their baptism 
real and true, ' to fight manfully under 
Christ's banner against sin, the world, and 
the devil.' And do not the white robes 
mean the graces of -the Holy Spirit ? I have 
never forgotten your telling us of those 
beautiful garments, mercy, kindness, hu- 
mility, meekness, long-suffering, all knit to- 
gether by the golden girdle of love." 1 

" And then," said Gustave, " St. Paul tells 
us plainly what the armor is, 'Stand, there- 
fore, having your loins girt about with truth, 
and having on the breastplate of righteous- 
ness ; and your feet shod with the prepara- 
tion of the gospel of peace ; above all, taking 
the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be 
able to quench all the fiery darts of the 
wicked; and take the helmet of salvation, 

i Col. iii. 12-14. 



72 AVEHDAH. 

and the sword of the Spirit, which is the 
the Word of God.' 1 How I wish it was a 
visible conflict ! There would be something 
so heart-stirring in actually seeing the enemy 
and grasping the wonderful armor and deal- 
ing the blows ! " 

" It is none the less real, my boy," replied 
Oberlin, " for being invisible. Perhaps if 
you had one sight of the hosts of darkness, 
it would be too much for you to bear. Be 
sure the Captain of our salvation has done 
wisely in veiling the unseen world till His 
time is come." 

" I suppose," said Adolphe, "the encamp- 
ment, which the liberated miners joined, 
points out some beloved church like our own." 

" Yes," answered Oberlin, " and here we 
may safely wait till the Prince returns. Only 
let us heartily welcome every message which 
he sends us by his couriers. I think you will 
recognize the three Advent watchwords, — 
; Behold, I come quickly.' 2 Oh, that our 
i Ephes. vi. 14-17. * R ev . xx ii. 7, 12, 20. 



AYEHDAH. 73 

very souls may answer ' Amen : even so, 
come, Lord Jesus,' for no heart can conceive 
and no tongue can tell either the misery of 
His enemies on the one side, or on the other 
the felicity of His own servants when He 
sits upon the throne of His glory and says 
to them, ' Come, ye blessed children of my 
Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you 
from the beginning of the world.' Then 
will He reward every one according as his 
work shall be. No act of loyalty and love 
shall be forgotten. And then shall take 
place the marriage of the Lamb and the 
everlasting reunion of heaven and earth. 
May not the name of that kingdom be well 
called Beulah, and of its metropolis Heph- 
zibah?" 



" OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 




bluffs of bare granite. 



HERE was a se- 
cluded valley lying 
some twenty miles 
inland from the 
coast of the south- 
ern continent in 
the New World. 
Betwixt it and the 
sea was a range of 
precipitous hills, 
partly wooded and 
partly rugged with 
The valley itself was 



fruitful and well watered ; though it was 
liable to the incursions of wild beasts that 
prowled in the surrounding forests; and, 
what was a far more serious danger, the 



"OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 75 

region was not seldom exposed to the shocks 
of severe earthquakes. 

It was in this valley that there was the 
wasted remnant, about thirty in number, of 
a gallant band of boys and youths who had 
been induced to leave their native land and 
settle in this far-away, sequestered spot. It 
were long to thread all the mazes of their 
sad story; but the* main outlines of it were 
as follows : — 

A crafty and unprincipled colonist ob- 
tained a grant of the vale from the semi-bar- 
barous tribes who were the only inhabitants 
of this zone, in exchange for glass beads and 
ornaments of trifling value. Having gained 
their rough signature to a deed of purchase, 
he left them and sailed away to his mother 
country, and there described the fertility and 
resources of the valley in most glowing 
terms ; and by means of his plausible ad- 
dress and forged testimonials he persuaded 
many parents and guardians, some of them 
people of substance and of sterling excel- 



76 "OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 

lence, to commit their children or wards to 
his care. The ordinary avenues of life were 
thronged. Some of the lads had failed in 
passing sundry examinations ; and there 
were many others who had no taste for the 
quiet occupations of long-established society, 
in whose hearts the love of enterprise beat 
quick, and whose friends were not unwilling 
to pay a substantial premium that the boys 
should be taught the art of farming in tropi- 
cal climes, and become themselves in time 
the proprietors of extensive lands for a mere 
nominal sum of money. 

The issue was that the father and founder, 
as he called himself, of the proposed colony 
obtained the charge of nearly one hundred 
youths, ranging between the ages of fourteen 
and eighteen ; with whom, and in possession 
of a very considerable capital of ready 
money, he set sail from their native land. 
He had consummate address in conversation. 
The voyage was cheered by his wit and an- 
ecdotes and the golden prospects he sketched 



" OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD. < 7 

of certain riches in the country, to which 
they were bound. The ship was forced by 
stress of weather to land them in a natural 
haven far to the north of their proposed 
point of disembarkation, which, to tell the 
truth, was very rarely visited by ships, as it 
lay out of the usual route of mercantile traf- 
fic, and the anchorage was exposed and dan- 
gerous. The consequence was, that their 
journey to the valley was long and tedious, 
encumbered as they were with baggage and 
provender, and much of it lying through a 
sandy desert, though they escaped the rug- 
ged path over and through the hills. 

However, at last their bourn was gained, 
and for "a few weeks all went well. The 
founder explored with them the marvels and 
beauties of the valley, and gave them some 
easy directions as to the cultivation of the 
plantains and date-palms and vines and other 
tiees of the country. But after a while his 
instructions became less and less frequent ; 
he was not seen b}~ his pupils for days to- 



78 " OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 

gether ; and at last he was nowhere to be 
found. His tent was empty. His choice 
portables were all gone. The founder had 
absconded and left this band of boys and 
youths to themselves. 

Months passed on. For a long while they 
expected their president would surely return. 
But he came not. They had no master. 
Some continued their light labor in the rich, 
loamy soil. Others idled away their time in 
useless pastime. Some wandered into the 
neighboring woods and became the prey it is 
supposed of lions and leopards, for their com- 
panions saw them no more. And now their 
store of provision was exhausted ; and, 
though the light food of the country supplied 
many of their necessities, diseases in various 
forms set in, — fevers and agues and dys- 
entery. This valley, beautiful as it was, 
proved at certain seasons, from the rankness 
of its vegetation and the malaria arising from 
some undrained swamps, most perilous for 
Europeans. They died off like sheep. All 



" OVER THE HILLS HOMEWAED." 79 

hope of establishing a settlement there was 
utterly broken up. But how should they 
return ? Weakened and dispirited, they de- 
clared that they could not essay the long 
journey through the desert. The way to 
the coast over the hills was unknown and 
beset with dangers — and what should they 
do if they gained the shore ? However, at 
last a stray native pilgrim, who chanced to 
pass through the valley, and commiserated 
their forlorn estate, offered to carry a letter 
for them to the distant port at which they 
had landed, whither he himself was bound, 
and to place it in the hands of the captain of 
the first vessel which might touch there. 
This buoyed up their hopes for a while. 
But as week after week passed by they 
feared that it was all in vain. 

And now all the remaining bonds of disci- 
pline were loosed in their little community. 
The elder youths violently seized that which 
belonged to the younger. The vicious en- 
ticed the weak. There were only three or 



80 "OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 

four among them at most who seemed to 
remember the lessons of their far-off homes. 
One morning, however, when they had 
given up all hope of receiving any answer to 
the letter they had entrusted to the pilgrim 
(the early dews were scarcely dried from the 
long luxuriant grass), a stranger suddenly 
appeared among them. His garb was that 
of a foreigner, but he spoke their language 
perfectly. He told them that their letter 
had been faithfully delivered at the distant 
port, and had fallen into the' hands of a cap- 
tain whose heart was deeply touched by 
their piteous story; that the captain had 
diverted his vessel from its ordinary course 
for their sakes, and that the ship was now 
lying in the open roadstead on the nearest 
point of the coast over the hills ; that he 
himself who spoke to them, knowing the 
country well, had travelled the distance in 
little more than eight hours, having only set 
forth long after sunset on the previous even- 
ing ; but that the captain bade him say he 



"OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 81 

would remain till the same hour on the fol- 
lowing morning, so that all might reach the 
ship. The stranger urged them to set forth 
without delay ; for he said that his own path 
lay far into the interior of the continent, 
or he would gladly have returned with 
them ; but that, if they would follow the 
mountain defile straight towards the sun-ris- 
ing, they would findat the end of the ravine 
a narrow track, which though sometimes 
faintly marked was still sufficient to guide 
them by aid of a traveller's map, of which he 
would give a copy to each. It was a map 
of the pathway across the hills, on which 
every rock and dell and wood and swamp 
and bypath was indicated, and the true track 
was traced in a deep red line all the way. 
He said that if they set out at once, they 
might even hope by strenuous effort to reach 
the coast before or soon after sunset; but 
that, in case night should overtake them, he 
would also give to each one who would re- 
ceive it a traveller's lamp. He showed them 
6 



82 " OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 

how to kindle and feed and trim the lamps, 
which, he said, small though they were, 
would by reason of the brightness of the 
light cast from the silver reflector scare even 
a wild beast from its attack. And he urged 
them, if they were in any perplexity, to let 
the light of the lamp fall upon the map, and 
they would find their right path marked by 
arrow-heads all the way to the coast. 

I confess I expected that this kind and 
good man's words would have been greeted 
with one shout of gratitude from the group 
of bo}^s, some twenty in number, who lis- 
tened to him. All had not obeyed the sum- 
mons to come and hear his message. But I 
was grievously and bitterly disappointed. 

One said that he could not think of leav- 
ing behind what remained of his possessions, 
— they were sorely dwindled as it was, — 
and how could he carry them over the hills? 

Another said they should have had longer 
warning : how could the captain expect them 
to start at an hour's notice ? 



" OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 83 

A third said he doubted whether they 
could do the distance, all over those rugged 
hills, in twenty-four hours ; while a fourth, 
contradicting his comrade, replied that if the 
stranger had traversed the route in eight 
hours, so might they ; and that for himself 
he should wait for the cool of the evening, 
for he much preferred travelling by night to 
the glare of a tropical sun. 

A fifth answered that he would go so far as 
to see whether there was such a track at the 
end of the defile, for he had never observed 
it, and had grave doubts of its existence. 

Another hesitatingly intimated that his de- 
cision should depend on that of the rest : he 
would go if all agreed to go. 

While yet another (my heart glowed with 
indignation as he spoke) asked, with the keen, 
suspicious air of superior wisdom, how they 
could be sure they were not being duped and 
deceived ? Very likely the man wanted to 
lead them into some ambush, and to seize and 
sell them as slaves. 



84 "OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 

I expected to see the stranger at once turn 
away in utter disgust. But no : he drew from 
the folds of his dress a letter in the captain's 
handwriting, signed with his name, and sealed 
with his seal, which verified every word he 
had uttered. The stranger offered to leave 
the letter in their hands. He even made 
excuses for their doubts and suspicions, after 
the cruel deception they had suffered from 
the duplicity of the man who had brought 
them to this valley. He invited explanations. 
He answered every objection. He again and 
again urged the need of immediate action. 
And when most of them still looked upon 
him with a cold and incredulous gaze, he 
even entreated them with tears, for he said 
his heart yearned over their pitiable condition. 
He then brought out from his traveller's scrip 
a number of fac-simile maps of the mountain 
track and several little lamps of beautiful and 
easy construction, which he took round and 
offered to one another. 

About half the lads accepted the maps, 



"OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 85 

which they could thrust at once into their 
bosom ; and some five or six of them took 
the lamps as well. It struck me that more of 
them wished to do so, but were kept back by 
false shame, dreading the scorn of one jesting 
companion, who did not cease from pouring 
contempt on the stranger's words and turn- 
ing his gifts into ridicule. However, among 
those who accepted" both map and lamp, I 
especially marked two boys, — one of whom I 
will call Fidelis, for his trustful nature was 
written on his open brow, and the other, 
Hilaris, for his joyous spirit made him a 
favorite with all. Fidelis also, I saw, craved 
a map and lamp for a bosom friend of his, 
named Urban, who from indolence had not 
risen from his couch that morning to listen 
to the stranger's words. These were freely 
given ; and a small supply was left for any 
boys who might be afterwards disposed to 
make use of them. And so the stranger 
passed on his way, not without many an ear- 
nest word of advice to Fidelis and Hilaris and 



86 " OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 

the others who had taken the maps and lamps ; 
and not without many a sorrowful and com- 
passionate look on those who had refused 
them. 

When he was gone, Fidelis at once sought 
out his friend Urban, and told him all the 
stranger had said, and pleaded his cause so 
successfully that Urban thanked him with 
tears in his eyes, sprang from his couch, 
and hastily dressing himself thrust the map 
and lamp into the folds of his garment ; and 
together they joined the large group of lads, 
amid which Hilaris was standing and talking 
full of a joyous hope of seeing his fatherland 
once more. His bright words had evidently 
quickened the hopes of many. 

However, one boy would stay to change his 
attire, another to mend his sandals, another 
to find a jewelled ring which he had lost ; 
while another insisted, and with more show 
of reason, that they should at least partake 
of one hearty meal before their long journey. 
Hilaris in vain reminded them that the stranger 



"OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 87 

said the track, along which they were to 
travel, had supplied him and would supply 
them with all the food they would require 
for their one day's journey, and that they 
might fearlessly drink of the crystal streams 
which would cross their path. But this and 
other like questions were so long debated, 
that Fidelis looking up saw to his dismay 
that the sun was already past midday. 

Then he and Hilaris frankly said they 
would not stay one minute more ; those 
might join them who liked ; but that for 
themselves they were resolved to set out then 
and there. Urban at once started up, and 
two or three more, and they set forth, though 
some implored them to tarry if only half an 
hour more, and others pointed the finger of 
scorn at them, and others hurled stones in 
derision after them. 

The three friends, Fidelis, Hilaris, and 
Urban, pressed on in front ; for they agreed 
that so many precious hours had been lost 
they must now redouble their efforts. But 



88 " OVEH THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 

as they walked on they exchanged many 
pleasant thoughts of the stranger's kindness, 
and of the captain's disinterested goodness, 
and of the delight it would be to be on board 
a homeward-bound vessel, and above all to 
tread the shore of their beloved country. 
Engrossed with this converse, they had almost 
forgotten the comrades who set out with 
them, till looking back they saw them loiter- 
ing by a flowery bank, upon which one had 
thrown himself at full length. They shouted 
to them aloud to come on, but the sultry air 
only brought the answer, " There is no need 
for haste, tarry awhile, we are weary." So 
the three pressed on alone, and at length 
made their way to the end of the defile. 
There looking carefully among the bushes 
they found the narrow foot-track of which 
the stranger had told them; and having 
certified themselves by the map that it was 
the right path, they pushed on bravely and 
cheerily, and climbed the glen by the side of 
the torrent. 



"OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 89 

How glad they were then that they had 
not put off their journey till nightfall ; for the 
track, though it always revealed itself to a 
careful search, and could then be identified 
with the red arrow-pointed line traced in 
their chart, was often difficult to distinguish 
at first from other paths by which it was 
intersected. 

When they emerged from the brushwood 
at the head of the glen, they came to an open 
moorland stretching in far ranges upward ; 
and here they were even more thankful for 
their maps, for the waters from the hills 
had settled in the hollows and turned many a 
spot, which looked from a distance like a beau- 
tiful greensward, into a dangerous quagmire. 
Their pathway often wound round the edge 
of a treacherous morass ; or they had to 
spring from one rocky stepping-stone to an- 
other, through swamps on either side all over- 
grown by moss and luxuriant rushes. But 
though they occasionally slipped, and more 
than once had to retrace their steps when 



90 "OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD," 

they thought they had discovered a short cut 
to a distant point and found to their cost that 
way was impassable, — yet they never con- 
sulted their maps in vain ; and at length the 
moors were safely passed, and they trod with 
more" confidence the elastic heather which 
clothed the ridges of the upper table-land. 

Fidelis, however, often had to point out to 
Urban, who was disposed to lag behind, how 
fast the sun was sloping toward the west, 
and how the purple clouds told that they 
should have to finish their journey under the 
wing of night. Thus spurring each other to 
fresh efforts, they pressed on the more eagerly, 
and by dint of arduous walking and climbing 
they reached the crest of the range of hills 
just as the sun was sinking in the western 
horizon. Its last rays fell upon the blue, far- 
off ocean. The boys shouted, £ 4 The sea, the 
sea ! " and leaped for joy. Here they found a 
spring of delicious water, and freely partook 
of the last grapes and maize-corn they had 
plucked in passing down the valley. They 



"OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 91 

looked back on the way they had trodden 
with much thankfulness and forward with 
hopefulness, though Hilaris confessed him- 
self much disappointed at not seeing the sails 
or even mast-head of the vessel on the distant 
sparkling sea. Fidelis answered it was doubt- 
less moored beneath the lofty cliffs, and that 
they could not expect to see it till they neared 
the shore. 

But now — for twilight is very short in the 
tropics — the darkness soon came clown upon 
them. So they lit their lamps, and kept 
carefully along the narrow track, Hilaris 
first, then Urban, and Fidelis bringing up 
the rear. But on that high table-land there 
were no mists. The air was life. The cool 
of night was most invigorating after that 
long, sultry afternoon. And the burning 
stars above them, among which Fidelis 
pointed out with deep joy the Southern 
Cross, seemed like angel friends now the 
sun was gone. 

So they walked on in good cheer, till they 



92 "OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD.". 

came to a sudden dip in the hillside, where 
was a deep glen forming a little ravine by 
itself. This glen was filled with a white, 
silvery mist, that clung around the rocks and 
furze-bushes. It was an exhalation from a 
neighboring marsh, but was as impenetrable 
as a fog-bank. They could not see three feet 
before them. Here they were in doubt. 
Urban strongly advised that they should 
descend the hill on the grassy ridge which 
hemmed in the glen on every side. But to 
this Fidelis would by no means consent ; for 
on consulting their maps they all agreed that 
the red arrow-pointed line lay through, not 
round it. So they began to feel their way ; 
but, oh ! this was weary work. Now they had 
to hold the lamp close to the map, and now 
quite low to their feet, to be sure that they 
were in the right track. Again and again 
Urban would have had them turn aside, but 
the hopefulness of Hilaris and the trust of 
Fidelis held on and held out. More than 
once they thought they heard the roar of 



" OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 93 

wild beasts, though apparently not very near 
them ; and shortly after the very ground 
beneath their feet seemed to shake as with 
the tremor of an earthquake. Several times 
they were compelled to stop from sheer 
exhaustion ; for you must be aware that it 
was a very different thing breathing that 
thick oppressive mist from imbibing the free 
mountain air. Their lungs seemed cloyed, and 
their heart heaved wearily. Fidelis said that 
he thought they must have been more than 
two hours threading their way through that 
glen, and bitterly lamented the time they 
had lost on the previous forenoon. Had they 
started at once, as the stranger urged them, 
they would have escaped this marsh fog. 
However, their only comfort was, the map 
said thejr were in the right track. 

And so it proved. At last they arrived 
at the lower edge of the glen, and the mist 
became thinner, and the outline of the rocks 
clearer, and the furze-bushes and the trunks 
of trees more discernible ; and soon the beau- 
tiful stars again gladdened their eyes. 



94 " OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 

The trees of which I spoke, though few 
and sparse at first, became thicker and closer 
continually, until it was evident that their 
onward path lay through the dense forest. 
The track now was narrower and more over- 
grown with brambles than ever, and in the 
dim light their hands and faces were often 
torn with the entangling briars. As thus 
they painfully struggled on, Fidelis, who was 
behind, heard the stealthy tread of some 
beast of prey. He told Urban, and Urban 
Hilaris. Their hearts beat quick ; but stand- 
ing closely together they held their bright 
lamps aloft. It was enough ; with a low 
growl the lion (for such it was) slunk into 
the thick bushes, and molested them no 
more. The thought, however, of this raven- 
ous beast being so near them made them 
forget their weariness and the sharpness of 
the thorns. They pressed on with redoubled 
speed, until they left the forest behind them 
and stood at the base of a ruggetl ascent. 

And here a greater sorrow befell Fidelis 



11 OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 95 

and Hilaris than any they had yet expe- 
rienced. Urban, who had kept with them 
so long, refused to accompany them any 
further. And this was the reason. He had 
seen from the sunset ridge the line of the 
country sloping toward the sea, and had 
counted on a gradual descent from that van- 
tage-ground. And now, when travel-worn 
and foot-sore, after passing through the foggy 
ravine and the briary forest, he found the 
track again climbing one of the lesser hills 
which he had. overlooked from the summit, 
instead of winding along its base, he was 
altogether discouraged and chagrined. He 
was sure the track would deceive them. He 
was certain the map was wrong. Why 
should they not turn to the right, and then 
keep straight down toward the sea? They 
could not be very far off now from the coast. 
Had they not walked on and on for twelve 
hours ? Fidelis and Hilaris might climb the 
steep without him. But as for himself, now 
that they had gained the open, where there 



96 " OYER THE HTLLS HOMEWARD." 

were no mists, and where the beasts of prey 
came not, he should rest where he was for 
awhile, and then strike downward in the 
direction he pointed to the sea-shore. 

It was in vain that Fidelis argued with 
him, and Hilaris sought to cheer him. They 
even took him by either arm and began 
to drag him up the slope. All was of no 
use ; Urban was doggedly resolute. Perhaps 
they wasted an hour in persuasion, and 
then Fidelis sorrowfully said to Hilaris : — 
" Brother, we must go on; we shall only 
die with him here, and if we reach the ship 
we may induce the captain to stay a few 
hours for liim." Their hearts were torn with 
anguish. But what could they do more? 
Twice they returned several hundred yards 
down the steep to entreat him. But Urban 
threw himself on the ground, and bade them 
leave him to himself. 

So the two friends finally addressed them- 
selves to the remainder of their journey. 
Their hearts were knit more closely than ever 



"OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 97 

together ; and many were the earnest prayers 
they prayed for their companion. Yet their 
own path had its toils and intricacies, its 
doubts, and difficulties, and dangers ; up 
one steep and down the next, climbing many 
a slippery rock, and footing wearily the 
stony path with here and there a beautiful 
meadow of tender grass as they drew nearer 
and nearer the coast. Here also vines bent 
over them, of which they plucked the re- 
freshing clusters of grapes, until at last Hil- 
aris said to his brother: " Surely the eastern 
sky is tinged with streaks of pearl ; " and a 
few minutes afterwards, " See that ruby 
glow ; " and a few minutes later, " See that 
golden belt of cloud ; " and a few minutes 
more, " Oh, joy ! here is the first beam of 
the morning sun." 

That very moment they came from behind 
a natural wall of cliff along which the track 
had wound, and stood upon the bold head- 
land. And there, a few hundred feet below 
them, lay the gallant vessel. The boys 
7 



98 "OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 

shouted and threw their caps into the air for 
joy. The signal was seen by the look-out 
man at the foremast, and their feeble shout 
was answered by a hearty cheer from the 
ship. A boat's crew put off. The boys 
rapidly descended a rough gully worn by a 
winter torrent, hurried as fast as they might 
over the shingly beach, sprang into the boat, 
and in less than half an hour stepped on 
board that noble ship, called " Salvator," 
whose sign was an anchor biting the rock. 
It was some time before they could speak. 
But when somewhat revived with food, they 
told their story to the captain, while the 
officers and crew clustered round, Hilaris 
taking up the tale when Fidelis broke down. 
They both wept when they spoke of Urban. 
The kind-hearted captain, though he said 
the mercury was falling in his weather- 
glass, and he dared not remain on that 
exposed coast twelve hours more, and, in- 
deed, himself had little Lope of the boy's 
finding his way, promised to delay sailing 



11 OVEJl THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 99 

till noon. Hour after hour passed by.. The 

twelve o'clock bells were struck. And then 

the captain bid the sailors weigh anchor ; 

and the foresail was set, and the ship swung 

round ; when suddenly Fidelis, who had 

kept his eye ranging the shore, shouted, 

" There he is ; yes, there is Urban." And 

he it was indeed, bemired, and bruised, and 

bleeding, his clothes torn to shreds — yet 

Urban himself. Seeing the vessel set sail, 

he recklessly clashed into the sea, as he was, 

and swam out into the waves. Again the 

boat was lowered, and willing hearts and 

arms pulled towards the lacl, as he wildly 

buffeted the billows. And well it was they 

rowed so hard ; for not only was his strength 

failing, but just as they dragged him into the 

boat a shark turned on its side and opened 

its ravenous jaws to devour him. A few 

seconds more, and he would have been the 

prey of the sea-monster. So nearly was 

Urban lost. 

I must not attempt to tell at length the 



100 "OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 

tale of his sufferings and hair-breadth escapes, 
as he told it to Fidelis and Hilaris that day : 
the sense of utter desolation he experienced, 
when he found they had indeed gone on their 
way: the hour of unrest as he lay upon the 
heather, for he heard more than once the roar 
of lions in the skirts of the forest through 
which they had passed, and was afraid to 
close his wearied eyelids even for a moment : 
the vexation with which at last he sprang up 
and hurried along the level moor till he came 
to broken ground and sharp declivities again : 
the utter perplexity he felt when he found 
his progress stopped by an impetuous torrent 
which had worn a deep channel among the 
slippery precipitous rocks : the despair with 
which he remembered his chart was utterly 
useless now, and his lamp of very little avail 
without the map : the trouble with which he 
made his way along the side of the torrent, 
often falling heavily and bruising himself 
severely in the darkness : the tearing of his 
clothes every step by cactuses and other 



14 OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 101 

prickly shrubs which baffled him on every 
side : how his face, his hands, his arms, his 
legs were lacerated with thorns : how once, 
springing from a thicket upon what he 
thought was an open plot of grass, he sank 
into a deep quag almost up to his armpits, 
and, hardly grasping a furze-bough, struggled 
out, but not without the loss of both his shoes 
in the slough, and the quenching of the lamp 
which he still held in the other hand: how 
then he thought he should have laid hhn 
down and died, if he had not caught a 
glimpse of the Southern Cross to which 
Fidelis had directed them at the beginning 
of the night : how this had encouraged him 
to struggle on with bleeding feet hour after 
hour, now floundering through swamps, now 
on firmer ground, and now again through 
glens perplexed with briars and thorns : how 
at last the morn began to break, but his heart 
sank within him as he thought it would be 
the signal for the ship setting sail : how still 
he toiled on, and as the day dawned was 



102 "OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 

astonished and grieved beyond measure to 
find himself, after all his efforts, not far from 
the spot where he had parted from his friends. 
But could he be wrong ? There was the 
long range of hills which they had descended 
together ; there was the forest ; there was 
the steep they had climbed, not so very high 
or hard after all in the daylight. And then 
he told with what trembling anxietv he felt 
in the folds of his tattered dress for his long- 
forgotten map. Yes, there it was, wet and 
stained, but safe. And now an eager search 
discovered the track. His tears fell fast upon 
it, for he feared it was too late. Still it was 
his only chance. Snatching a few berries as 
he passed to stay his hunger, and scooping in 
his hands the water from a wayside burn, he 
allayed his craving hunger and thirst, and hur- 
ried on as fast as his poor naked feet would 
suffer him. Many were the groans the sharp 
rocks cost him. But he never took his eye 
from the track, save to look upon his now 
doubly precious chart and certify himself 



"OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 103 

that lie was right. Oh, the intense relief 
when he passed from the stony wold to a 
beautiful meadow, and when without slacken- 
ing his pace he could pluck the grapes which 
festooned the trees above him ! Still often a 
few hundred yards of turf would be succeeded 
by rocky climbing again. The sun now beat 
upon his head. But at last he, like his 
friends, passed from under the shelter of the 
granite bluff, and stood, almost unawares, 
upon the edge of the cliff. He said he well- 
nigh fainted with joy when he saw the vessel 
still moored below the cliff: but listening 
intently he heard the measured song of the 
sailors as they heaved the anchor, and his 
heart leaped into his mouth as the canvas was 
sheeted home and the vessel began to move. 
He sprang from rock to rock down the channel 
which the torrent had worn in the cliff, and. 
throwing up his arms wildly into the air, 
dashed into the waves. 

Fidelis and Hilaris knew the rest. They 
could only grasp his hands for joy, and the 



104 " OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 

three lads knelt clown together on the deck 
and thanked God for his escape. 

Bat I must not stay to tell all the kindness 
of the captain and the crew, and all the com- 
fort of their rapid voyage home, and all the 
sorrowful memories of the valley and those 
left behind, and all the joy with which they 
sighted the shores of their native land, and 
all the hearty welcome of beloved ones there, 
and how they found the hymn which they 
often sang together delightfully verified: — 

" Why these fears 1 behold, 'tis Jesus 
Holds the helm and guides the ship. 

Spread the sails and catch the breezes 
Sent to waft us through the deep 

To the regions where the mourners cease to weep. 

" O what pleasures there await us ; 

There the tempests cease to roar ; 
There it is that those who hate us 

Can molest our peace no more : 
Trouble ceases on that tranquil, happy shore." 



<&Ko 



" OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 105 

"\T 7TIEN Oberlin stopped there was a 
pause of some minutes. The hearts of 
his grandchildren were touched with the story, 
and their eyes were full of tears. But when 
at last the old man broke the silence by say- 
ing that his parable had taken him so long to 
read they had but a short time to discuss it, 
Adolphe hesitatingly replied, " Grandfather, 
I think I saw the meaning of the night jour- 
ney over the hills; but I could not at all 
make out what the fraud of that bad man, 
who drew the boys from their native land to 
that far-off valley and then went off with the 
money given him, signified." 

" A parable, Gustave," said Oberlin, "sel- 
dom stands on four legs. See that solid 
globe of glass upon yonder polished rosewood 
table. It rests upon one point not larger than 
the point of a needle, and yet all its weight 
presses on the table. So, often many things 
in a parable go to make up the picture ; and 
it is the central thought of the picture which 



106 "OVER, THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 

speaks to our hearts. But, do you know, 
something very like that bad man's conduct 
really happened a few years ago, and many 
young friends of mine were actually enticed 
away by him. However, it will be enough for 
us to think to-night of the meaning of the lat- 
ter part of my story, only reminding ourselves 
that the world is something like that beautiful 
sequestered valley, with its rich fruitful soil, 
but with wild beasts of prey, such as sin and 
Satan, ranging near, and exposed to sudden 
earthquakes which may wrap all in ruin; 
that they who will have their portion in this 
life are, like those young colonists, doomed to 
certain disappointment ; that the god of this 
world, who promises them all kinds of pleas- 
ure and profit in his service here, will never 
redeem his pledges ; that blight, like the 
malaria fevers of that valley, will sooner or 
later fall on the fondest hopes of those who 
set their affections here ; and that the voice 
is heard in the hearts of the children of 
wisdom, 'Arise ye, and depart; for this is 



"OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 107 

not your rest : because it is polluted, it shall 
destroy you, even with a sore destruction.' 1 
This is our pilgrim call." 

" Then, grandfather," said Aimee, "ivas 
not the messenger like Evangelist in 4 Pil- 
grim's Progress,' who pointed Christian to 
the wicket gate ? " 

" Yes," answered Oberlin, " my parable 
might be called a short c Pilgrim's Progress,' 
compressed into one day's journey; and I 
often, when making it, thought of the text, 
1 Give glory to the Lord your God, before He 
cause darkness, and before your feet stumble 
upon the dark mountains, and, while ye look 
for light, He turn it into the shadow of death, 
and make it gross darkness. ' " 2 

" O I did so wish," said little Roschen, 
" that all the boys had started at once, when 
the stranger entreated them to go, and 
offered them maps and all they wanted. It 
was so foolish of them not to go. He said 

l Micah ii. 10. 2 Jer. xiii. 16. 



108 "OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 

they might have even reached the ship before 
nightfall." 

" God grant," said Oberlin, " that all my 
children may start for home in the early dewy 
morning ; " and the old man leaned his head 
on his clasped hands for a few moments in 
solemn prayer ; and then looking round his 
circle asked, "Can you explain from your 
Bibles the excuses they made ? " 

" Was not the lad who would carry his 
possessions with him," said Gustave, "like 
the young man who came running to Jesus, 1 
but would not sell all that he had and follow 
Him ? " 

" And," said Aim£e, " was not the one who 
replied they could not be expected to start at 
an hour's notice like Felix, who answered 
Paul, 8 Go thy way for this time ; when I 
have a convenient season, I will call for 
thee?'" 2 

"Now I thought," interrupted Gustave, 
" the one who Avould wait for the cool of the 

iMark x. 17. 2 Acts xxiv. 25. 



" OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 109 

evening was like Felix, and the boy who said 
he would go so far as to look for the track at 
the end of the defile like Agrippa when he 
answered Paul, ' Almost thou persuadest me 
to be a Christian.' x What cowards those 
were who waited to see what the others 
would do ! " 

"And yet," replied Oberlin, "it requires 
no small courage and no little faith to do what 
Lot did, when he forsook Sodom, though his 
alarm seemed mockery to his sons-in-law. 
And there are many would-be wise men, and 
many doubters, and many infidels, who will 
throw scorn on the warnings of the Gospel. 
But I see you quite understand the key to 
this part of my parable, and we must speak 
for a few minutes of those who obeyed the 
stranger's invitation." 

" Why, grandfather," said Adolphe, " Fi- 
delis I know means c faithful,' and Hilaris 
'joyful,' for I had them both in my Latin ex- 
ercise last week. What does Urban mean ? " 

1 Acts xxvi. 28. 



110 "OVER THE HILLS HOJIEWAED." 

" Polished and refined," answered Oberlin, 
"like one who dwells in a city (urbs}, and 
knows all the courtesies of society. Perhaps 
to live the pilgrim's life and to march over 
the hills homeward is the harder for such an 
one than for those who move in a lower walk 
of life ; for we read, ' God has chosen the poor 
of this world, rich in faith, and heirs of the 
kingdom which He hath promised to them 
that love Him.' x What do you understand 
by the map and lamp, Marie ? " 

" Well, sir," answered the old nurse hum- 
bly, " I thought the map surely meant the 
Bible ; but I do not know what the lamp can 
be." 

" I thought at first," said Aimee, " that the 
lamp was the light of the Holy Spirit — but 
then they did not want it when the sun shone, 
and we want the teaching of the Holy Spirit 
at all times." 

" May not light in itself, whether the light 
of the sun by day or of the lamp by night," 

1 James ii. 5. 



" OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." Ill 

asked Oberlin, " well signify the teaching of 
the blessed Spirit who teaches us by His own 
written word? What was the prayer one 
of you repeated to me this morning about 
light?" 

" That was my verse," little Roschen said : 
" 4 send out Thy light and Thy truth: let 
them lead me ; let them bring me unto Thy 
holy hill, and to Thy tabernacles.' 1 I did 
not think it would come into our parable this 
evening." 

" And yet," said her grandfather, "in that 
verse you have both the chart and the light 
we need to shine upon the chart beautifully 
expressed. And just as those young travel- 
lers found the map of no use without the 
light, and the light of little use without the 
map, so the Bible is of no use to us without 
the teaching of the Holy Spirit ; and gener- 
ally the Holy Spirit, who has given the Bible 
to be our guide, does not lead us many steps 
without it. But we must hasten on." 

1 Psalm xliii. 3. 



112 " OVER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 

" Was not the glimpse of the sea, which 
they got from the crest of the hills," asked 
Aimee, " a prospect of the rest which remain- 
eth for the people of God ? 1 And yet they 
did not see the ship. Does this mean, we 
do not see the angels who are to carry us to 
glory till we get to the very end of life ? " 

" And did not the foggy glen mean a time 
of trial and darkness, like that David passed 
through when he said, fc Yea, though I walk 
through the valley of the shadow of death, I 
will fear no evil: for Thou art with me ' ? " 2 
asked Adolphe. 

" And I suppose, then," said Gustave, " the 
tangled forest means the world with its pleas- 
ures and cares, and the growl of the lion the 
wrath of the devil." 

" When the lion slunk away," said Roschen, 
" I thought of the text, c Resist the devil, and 
he will flee from you.' 3 But why, oh ! why, 
grandfather, did Urban forsake them when he 
had come so far ? " 

1 Heb. iv. 9. 2 Psalm xxiii. 4. 3 James iv. 7. 



"OYER THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 113 

" Do we not read of many pilgrims, my 
child," answered Oberlin, " who walk stead- 
ily on for a while, and then have sad grievous 
backslidings or falls, from which they suffer 
all their after-life ? Such was Jacob, and 
such was David ; though these saints had a 
brighter after-path than poor Urban's was.'' 

" Does Urban's lamp being quenched in the 
swamp mean that the Holy Spirit ever quite 
refuses to show those who forsake the narrow 
path what is their duty ? " asked Adolphe. 

" I think it may set forth," answered Ober- 
lin, " that they sometimes quite lose the com- 
fort of His help and the joy of His salvation. 1 
God's own faithful servants, too, sometimes 
walk in darkness and have no light. 2 But 
Urban, you remember, after a while caught a 
glimpse of the Southern Cross, which may 
well tell under another figure of the Holy 
Spirit pointing the sinner's eye to Jesus and 
Him crucified. But our time is gone. We 
may speak to-morrow of many other lessons 

i Psalm li. 12. 2 Isa. L 10. 
8 



114 "OVEB- THE HILLS HOMEWARD." 

which this parable suggests. Only now re- 
member that the three boys, though Urban's 
lot was very different from that of Fidelis and 
Hilaris, pressed on till they reached the shore 
and the ship, and so were safely borne over 
the waters to their distant fatherland. God 
grant that not one of us may fail of reaching 
that better heavenly country, — that region 
where the mourners cease to weep ! " 




THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 



HERE was a 
gloom in the mar- 
ble city, the city 
of palaces, Genoa 
la Superba. The 
dreaded plague, 
which appeared 
first in the king- 
dom of Kathay, 
had gradually pro- 
ceeded westward 
to Constantinople and Egypt : thence it 
had passed into Greece, and, creeping along 
the shores of the Mediterranean, had at length, 
in the autumn of a.d. 1348, enveloped in its 
disastrous embrace the sunny clime of Italy. 
In Florence the people were dying by thou- 




116 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 

sands ; and it is credibly reported, that in that 
beautiful city and its immediate environs sixty 
thousand persons fell victims to this scourge 
of God. Genoa, favored by the freshness of 
prevailing winds from the north-west and by 
the salubrity of its encircling hills, was spared 
to the last. But when the wind veered 
round to the south and east, and then died 
away to a mere breath, it was far different. 
The sultry air had never been known to be 
so oppressive. A heavy cloud rested over the 
city by day and night, obscuring the sunshine 
and blotting out the stars. A boding dread 
seemed to overshadow all hearts. And this 
was quickened into lively alarm when one 
morning it was rumored that several cases of 
the fatal distemper had certainly appeared 
in the Lazaretto. 

The Genoese, however, that day tried to con- 
sole themselves by the thought that the suf- 
ferers in that hospice were of the lowest order, 
and already enfeebled by disease. Their com- 
fort was brief-lived. The next night physicians 



THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 117 

were hastily summoned not only to the lowly 
tenements of artisans, but to palaces of the 
nobles, and mansions of the wealthy mer- 
chants in every part of the city. The old 
streets of Genoa, as you know, are built so 
closely together to shut out the burning rays 
of the summer sun, that you might almost 
shake hands with your opposite neighbor 
from the upper stories across the narrow 
causeways. It was a strange, unwonted sight 
to see messengers making their way by torch- 
light through the intricate passages, not with 
instruments of music and gaily attired guests, 
but in silence and haste seeking out those 
who professed any knowledge of medicine. 
And all the next day the cases multiplied 
with fearful rapidity ; and on the third night 
the physicians, worn out with fatigue, were 
far too few for those who imploringly de- 
manded their aid. 

Now was heard the sharp cry or the low 
groan of pain. The heavy air seemed to sigh 
and sob with the grief of mourners. And the 



118 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 

frequent tolling of the great bell in the Cam- 
panile added to the general consternation. 
To allay this cause of alarm, a council was 
hastily summoned very early in the morning, 
and a decree made that no passing-bell for 
the dying or the dead should be rung within 
the city walls. Also, to prevent contagion, 
it was enacted that on the door of each house 
containing infected persons or corpses a black 
cross should be painted, and a black flag hung 
across the head of those streets which were 
most severely visited with the plague. But, 
alas ! it was soon found that the pestilence 
which walketh in darkness had spread in 
that one night to almost every quarter of 
the city. 

As the hours wore on, all faces gathered 
blackness and all hearts meditated terror. 
The symptoms of this awful malady greatly 
varied with the different constitutions of 
those it attacked. In some cases all the 
agony was in the throat ; and the very chan- 
nel of the breath of life was choked with 



THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 119 

putrefying sores in the course of three or four 
hours : the unhappy patient died of suffoca- 
tion. In other cases a strange dizziness 
seized the brain : the man was struck to the 
eartli when sitting in his house or walking in 
the street ; and though there were few signs 
of suffering, these instances were generally 
fatal in less than twelve hours. In many 
more cases the first indication was the break- 
ing out of burning spots, which in an incredi- 
bly short space of time became ulcerous sores 
on the chest or arms or other parts of the 
body ; while in not a few instances it appeared 
that, without any visible sign except a hectic 
flush in the cheek and a strange lustre in the 
eye, the disease attacked the region of the 
heart in all its virulence. The corpses of 
those who died thus turned black very shortly 
after death. But with one and all the stroke 
of pestilence seemed accompanied with an 
insatiable thirst. Water was eagerly swal- 
lowed, but it did not seem to slake the raging 
fever within. Some thought that the wells 



120 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 

of the city must themselves be poisoned by 
the subtle infection of the plague. Others 
thought that the meat was the source of clan- 
ger ; and indeed much cattle died ; so they 
abstained from all animal food. But, do what 
men might, death met them at every turn. 
And when once stricken, despair was written 
in the face of every sufferer. 
~ Hour by hour the deaths multiplied. No 
one put on mourning apparel for the nearest 
relatives. Funerals ceased. Few could bury 
their own dead. But at intervals of six hours 
what was called " the dead cart " passed 
through the streets : a hand-bell was rung ; 
and the driver, as he came near any house 
with the cross upon it, cried aloud, " Bring 
out your dead." To this call the answer of 
the inmates was often a wail of sorrow as they 
brought their dead to the door, for the most 
part only wrapped in the winding-sheet of 
the couch where they had breathed their last. 
The bodies, thus borne away on this general 
bier, were thrown indiscriminately into deep 



THE PLAGUE-STKICKEN CITY. 121 

trenches which were dug on the inner side of 
the quay. 

Genoa had been noted for the vivacity of 
its society, and for the strength of those ties 
which bind kindred and neighbors together. 
But the plague had not brooded one short 
week over the city before this sympathy of 
hearts seemed to have almost disappeared. 
There were some noble exceptions. But for 
the most part, under the icy touch of a hope- 
less despondency, parents looked coldly and 
gloomily on their stricken children, and chil- 
dren on their stricken parents. Neighbors 
shrank from neighbors, and friends deserted 
friends. The physicians in many instances 
themselves succumbed to the pestilence ; and 
oftentimes it was only by the offer of very 
large rewards they could be persuaded to 
attend at some rich man's bedside. Nor is 
this to be marvelled at ; for, when they came, 
their drugs were almost powerless and their 
skill unavailing. 



122 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 

Many more of the inhabitants would fain 
have escaped on board the galleys and 
merchant vessels, with which a few days 
before the noble harbor had been crowded. 
But these had most of them slipped their 
cables the second night and put out to sea ; 
and of the few terror-stricken fugitives who 
reached their decks, several had the seeds in 
them of the dreadful plague, and so infected 
the crews that the ships 'were left absolutely 
without any hands to work them, and drifted 
helplessly over the waters without captain or 
helmsman, or any to set or reef the sails. 

The hills, however, surrounding the town 
on every side but the harbor, afforded some a 
more accessible shelter. They were dotted 
with rudely constructed huts, in which 
hundreds of survivors, leaving sick friends 
behind them, sought to escape the malaria of 
the city. But the hill-sides proved no secure 
asylum : the pestilence followed them there. 
Yet their flight added to the strange solitude 



THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 123 

of the streets ; and the ninth day of the 
plague in Genoa realized the eloquent words 
of Tacitus, Dies mo do per silentium vastus, 
modo ploratibus inquies. 1 

It was at this time of Genoa's sorest need 
that a stranger, clad in mean attire, rowed in 
a little boat into the harbor. The ship, on 
board of which he came, hove to three or 
four miles off shore, dropped this tiny craft 
astern, and then sailing away was seen no 
more. 

The stranger's name was Fra Benedict. He 
seemed scarcely fifty years of age ; but his 
benevolent brow was worn with deep lines of 
thought and care. To one who questioned 
whence he came, he simply answered, " From 
the sunrising : " to another who demanded 
how he ventured to set foot on their infected 
shore, he replied, " For love : " and to a third 
who asked him whether, if he survived the 
plague, he intended to settle in Genoa, he 

1 " A day now desolate in its silence, and now perplexed 
with lamentations. " 



124 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 

said, with a sweet and tender smile, " No, 
brother: I am going home." But in truth 
he came so quietly and unobtrusively, and 
men's hearts were so preoccupied by their 
terrible calamities, that few, except those who 
were listlessly standing on the water's edge, 
concerned themselves about the landing of 
this solitary stranger in their harbor. Yet 
had they known all he was and all the help 
he could minister to the sick and dying, I 
think the whole city would have flocked to 
the marble pier to welcome him. 

One breath may speak volumes. Fra 
Benedict had discovered a sovereign remedy 
for the plague ! He made no secret of the 
healing virtue of the drug he used. It was 
an inexpensive simple, but needed skilful 
and careful application ; and then no case 
had been found too hard for its wonderful 
properties. When administered in the earli- 
est stage of the disease, its effects were 
generally marked and often immediate. 
And, even when the distemper had taken 



THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 125 

deeper root, by patient and persevering en- 
deavors the sufferer usually recovered after 
a few days. It was only in a very few 
and rare instances, and these generally far 
advanced towards the fatal end, when the 
sick man desperately refused to comply with 
his directions, that the malignity of the 
disease seemed to baffle the art of the physi- 
cian. 

As he said, he came from the East ; and he 
had tracked this terrible plague from land to 
land and city to city. It were long to tell 
all the privations and perils he had endured 
in ministering to those stricken down by it. 
And probably fame would have heralded his 
glory far and wide, but for one thing, which 
generally in every place set the great and 
learned against him : he always refused pay- 
ment. Indeed his only condition of attend- 
ance was that men should receive his services 
freely and without price; for he said the 
work was wages and the hue of returning 
health in the sick man's face his reward. So 



126 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 

his ministry had always chiefly lain among 
the poor. 

So it was in Genoa. On landing at the 
quay, Fra Benedict at once made his way to 
the lowest part of the city where the plague 
was raging most violently. This gave great 
offence to a few wealthy traders who heard 
of it, and who affirmed the man's credentials 
probably would not bear investigation, or he 
would no doubt have first inquired for the 
College of Physicians, who were consulting 
that day for many hours on the best steps to 
retard the progress of the pestilence. Bene- 
dict chose his lodging in what was known as 
a " plague house;" for it was set apart as a 
hospital to which the poor, if they were so 
minded, might bring their stricken friends. 
From thence he sent forth messages and let- 
ters of invitation, simply stating the fact that 
he had found a certain cure for the pestilence, 
and entreating all sufferers to send for him 
without delay. And forthwith he began his 
work, and treated many cases among the poor 
with marvellous success. 



THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 127 

Perhaps more would have applied to him ; 
but just at that time the priests affirmed that 
one of their number had been favored with a 
miraculous vision, revealing to him that if 
the Genoese would build a chapel or hermit- 
age in honor of a nun who had died a few 
years before, the plague would begin to sub- 
side ; and that those who contributed to its 
erection would be cured if ill, and protected 
if whole. It was perfectly marvellous how 
this fiction obtained credit with the people. 
But so it was; the nobles showered jewels 
and gems of priceless value, and the traf- 
fickers gold and silver, and even the poorest 
would bring their last copper coins to cast 
into the votive treasury. Nay, the chief men 
and women of the city vied with each other 
who should have the honor of carrying the 
stones and timber and mortar to the hermit- 
age, which was being built on a gentle slope 
without the city walls. 

To give one instance, out of many, of the 
way in which this foolish superstition thwarted 



128 THE PLAGUE-STEICKEN CITY. 

Fra Benedict's ministry of mercy. The third 
day after his arrival he had been summoned 
hastily to the glorious palace of Leonard!, 
whom report said to be the richest merchant 
prince of Genoa, but who now lay among his 
crimson silk shuddering with the first chills 
of the pestilence. Benedict was ascending 
the marble staircase, when he was met by a 
procession of several priests and servants, 
with bags of gold and caskets of jewels, 
which they were carrying to the site of the 
hermitage. He with difficulty made his wajr 
through the throng, and when he came to 
the sick man's chamber door, was refused 
admittance. Leonardi was so satisfied with 
the immense sums he had given, far exceed- 
ing any offerings the saint had received else- 
where, that he believed the assurance of a 
priest who persuaded him that a tribute of 
such fabulous wealth would certainly pur- 
chase his recovery, and that now to submit 
to the treatment of a poor vagrant physician 
would offend the saintly patron whose aid he 



THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 129 

was invoking. So Fra Benedict was cour- 
teously but firmly urged to depart. 

As lie was sadty leaving the beautiful por- 
tico, where the cool fountain, scattering spray 
on the orange blossoms, seemed almost a 
mockery of this death-shadowed home, Bene- 
dict observed the runner, who had fetched 
him hither so hastily, lying at the foot of a 
marble column. His countenance was ashy 
pale. Going up to him, Benedict took him 
kindly by the hand and said, " My friend, the 
plague is awork in your veins : suffer me to 
help you." The man demurred for a while, 
saying he had cast his mite into the coffer of 
the procession as they swept by, and he 
thought all would be well. But as the good 
physician reasoned with him, a sharp spasm 
of pain convulsed his frame, and he murmured, 
" Do what you can for me." Benedict, hav- 
ing ministered his remedy to him, left him in 
the charge of an attached fellow-servant ; and, 
returning a few hours after, found him already 
convalescent. But a loud wailing from the 



130 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 

upper story told that the master had died, 
just as the procession re-entered the house, 
having deposited their offerings at the shrine 
of the saint. 

The record of Fra Benedict's experiences 
that morning may serve as an example of the 
treatment he generally met with among the 
rich and great men of the world. Shortly 
after he left Leonardi's palace, he passed the 
stately porch of Rinaldo, the treasurer of 
the city. Rinaldo himself was there, gazing 
anxiously down the street, apparently looking 
for some persons who came not. Seeing 
Benedict pass, Rinaldo called to him, and 
begged him if he met a group of servants 
whom he had sent to summon Lorenzo de' 
Medici, a learned and celebrated leech, to his 
wife, to hasten their steps, as she was in 
great agony, and he did not like to leave her. 
Benedict entreated that he might be allowed 
himself to minister to her. But the treasurer 
replied by asking hurriedly what the nature 
of his treatment might be, and what his 



THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 131 

charge for administering' it. And when the 
other answered that it was a very inexpensive 
drug, and that his attendance was free to all 
without money, Rinaldo almost rudely im- 
plored him to go on his way, assuring him 
he had discovered long ago that gratuitous 
remedies were worthless. He would not be 
reasoned with. 

So Fra Benedict passed on, and scarcely 
half a mile from Rinaldo's house met the ser- 
vants, carrying the empty palanquin in which 
Lorenzo de' Medici was to have been borne 
by them. Giving them their master's mes- 
sage, he asked where Lorenzo might be. 
They shook their heads and answered, " He 
is himself sick of the plague." This was 
enough to attract Benedict : he made his way 
to the great physician's house, and asked 
permission to see him. This was courteously 
accorded him. But the dying man firmly 
refused his offers of help, saying that he had 
himself lost faith in all means of cure, but was 
certain that if any could avail, the potent 



132 THE RbAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 

drug he had just swallowed would carry him 
through the crisis of this attack. Alas, it 
proved a mere palliative. Lorenzo de' Medici 
died that night. 

But from Lorenzo's lips Benedict heard that 
the noted philosopher and naturalist, Gio- 
vanni, whose house joined to his own, was 
likewise stricken down with the plague. 
As his custom was, Fra Benedict went imme- 
diately and offered his remedy ; but he was 
doomed again to meet with repulse. For 
the philosopher having demanded to see the 
recipe of his cure, at once pronounced that 
it was far too simple to touch so terrible a 
disease, adding that he had the utmost con- 
fidence in an elaborate concoction of his own 
devising, which was distilled from more than 
fifty herbs and aromatic spices. 

A shade of mournful pity, not unmingled 
with disappointment, saddened the counte- 
nance of Benedict as he left the wealthy 
quarter of the city and made his way to his 
lodgings through the squalid dwellings of 



THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 133 

the poor. As he was passing down a 
very narrow thoroughfare, in former days 
thronged, but now almost deserted, he heard 
the signal-bell of the dead cart: it paused 
before a house that was tenanted in apart- 
ments by artisans, and two shrouded forms 
were cast in. When the cart passed on, 
Benedict lingered at the threshold, and think- 
ing that he caught the faint echo of a child's 
groan, he went in. There he saw, in a large 
but scantily furnished room, three children, 
all stricken with the same pestilence, of which 
their father and mother had died a few 
hours before. They were the bodies of their 
parents which had just been borne from the 
door. The names of the three children were 
Claude, Guido, and Beatrice. It was the 
wailing cry of little Beatrice, her mother's 
darling, which had fallen on Benedict's ear, 
and arrested his onward footstep. 

The three children, though all ill, were 
suffering in different ways. Claude, who 
had been attacked first, was frequently con- 



134 THE PLAGUE-STBICKEN CITY. 

vulsed with sharp spasms of pain, and then 
his eyes seemed as if they would start from 
their sockets ; and when the paroxysm was 
over he would lie for a few minutes as if he 
were dead, only to be roused by a new agony. 
Benedict drew near and spoke to him in the 
gentlest voice ; but the poor boy turned away 
his face in utter hopelessness, saying, " For 
me you can do nothing, nothing, nothing : see 
if you can aid poor Guido or little Beatrice." 
Benedict turned and looked on Guido, 
but he shook his head doubtfully. The lad 
seemed overpowered with a heavy slumber. 
There was a terrible numbness about his 
heart, and a cold stare in his eye. Once 
Benedict roused him and put the healing 
medicine to his lips. Oh, had he swallowed 
it, all might yet have been well ! But with 
a sudden and strange energy he cried out 
aloud, " It is too late : too late ! " and thrust 
away the x ministering hand, and clenching his 
teeth firmly, sank down into a state of appar- 
ent unconsciousness. 



THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 135 

The kind-hearted physician turned to Bea- 
trice, — the quicksilver little Beatrice, — who 
at first said, u She had not the plague ; only 
her cheeks burned ; she should soon be well. 
Who had taken mother away ? " However, 
she was soon won by Benedict's loving eye 
and tender hand. He chafed her limbs with 
oil ; he administered his wonderful medicine ; 
he threw open the back casement that looked 
toward the blue sea far away; he wrapped 
round her his own traveller's cloak. And 
in less than an hour the dear child looked 
up and said, " How I thank you : I am bet- 
ter ; " and fell into a sweet sleep. 

Scarcely had she uttered the words when 
a deep groan was heard from the couch of 
Guido : it was his last. Guido was dead. 

And then Fra Benedict came again to 
Claude and said, " Your dear sister will 
recover : your brother is dead. Be per- 
suaded : let me help you.' 5 And now Claude 
looked up with tears in his eyes and said, 
"Dear sir, have I not refused too long?" 



136 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 

But the good physician answered thought- 
fully and calmly, " Be of good cheer, yet 
there is hope." 

Yet had Claude reason dearly to repent 
the precious time he had lost. He took the 
medicine indeed ; but it seemed at first only 
to aggravate his sufferings. The spasms of 
pain were so severe he could not help groan- 
ing and crying out in his misery. And some- 
times delirium seized his brain. But Fra 
Benedict cooled his brow, and kept his hand 
upon the weak agitated pulse, until he felt 
it grow stronger and more regular beneath 
his touch. Then he knew the remedy was 
grappling with and mastering the disease. 
And so it proved. Claude fell into a per- 
turbed slumber, which was broken with fre- 
quent starts and cries as of nightmare alarm. 
Still there were intervals of quiet, and they 
became longer. 

In one of these, Fra Benedict hearing the 
bell of the dead cart again, quietly and 
reverently wrapped the father's best cloak 



THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 137 

around the lifeless body of Guido, and him- 
self bore it to the door and laid it on that 
mournful bier. At another time he minis- 
tered food to Beatrice, who was now awake. 
Still he kept his eye on Claude, until at last 
he had the joy of seeing the beads of dewy 
perspiration on the boy's open noble brow, 
and the breathing became more regular : and 
Claude too sank into delicious and refreshing 
repose. 

It were too long to tell all the tender care 
which Benedict bestowed on Beatrice and 
Claude. Though he had scores of other 
patients, he seemed especially to regard these 
two orphans as his own children. For the 
next three days they were very feeble, but 
he procured the choicest viands for them and 
the most cordial wines, until the color of 
health again flushed their cheeks. And then 
the good man told them, that while the 
plague continued in Genoa he would be to 
them as father and mother, and when he left 
them would provide that they should never 



138 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 

want. And indeed they clung to him as if 
they had been his very own. They felt they 
owed him a debt which they could never 
repay; and one day Claude said so. But 
Benedict replied, " Dear children, would you 
try to requite me any thing I have done for 
you ? The plague has yet been scarcely a 
fortnight in the city. It may have reached 
its height ; but, if it tarries here as in other 
places, you cannot expect that it will subside 
for two months to come. Now I want to 
make jom my messengers to other sufferers. 
You shall tell them what my medicine has 
done for you. They will believe you per- 
haps rather than myself. But I will never 
be far off from you, and you shall tell me 
every day all that you have said and done." 
The children gratefully promised to do what 
they could ; and most touching it was to see 
them moving, like angels of mercy, among 
the sick and the dying. But I must not 
attempt here to narrate all that befell them 
during the next few weeks. Fra Benedict's 



THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 139 

work and theirs lay chiefly among the poor, 
though not altogether so. He was sum- 
moned again to Leonardos house by the ser- 
vant, whose life he had saved, to attend 
Lucrece, the merchant's eldest daughter, 
who fell sick the week after her father died ; 
and though the attack was a very severe one, 
and the priests, strange to say, still opposed 
his attendance, Lucrece insisted on trying his 
remedy. She did so, and recovered. Her 
gratitude was intense. Also Giovanni's 
brother, Agathon, a princely patron of the 
fine arts, sent for him and was healed. But, 
as I said, Fra Benedict's chief work lay 
among the poor. One lone and aged woman, 
whom most men would have thought beneath 
their notice, he nursed as tenderly as if she had 
been a duchess, and gave Beatrice the most 
careful instructions for her comfort. And 
then a blind beggar, whose miserable exist- 
ence seemed a weariness to himself and 
others, Fra Benedict wooed back to life, and 
often left under the care of Claude. And 



140 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 

these also, like the children, he made his mes 
sengers and attendants upon other sufferers. 
It was surprising how many the blind man 
induced to send for his aid, and how tender 
a nurse the aged grandmother proved. More 
orphan children, too, were healed. And 
now the tidings spread from one to another, 
until every minute of every hour of the day 
was filled up with healing the sick or minis- 
tering to the convalescent. 

It was a frequent marvel to others, whence 
Fra Benedict obtained his supplies of medi- 
cine and food. He appeared to be quite a 
poor man himself, and lived on the plainest 
diet, yet he never seemed at a loss to supply 
the wants of the sick and the suffering. 
Whether any wealthy friend of his in Genoa 
supplied him with large charity funds, as some 
maintained ; or whether, as others thought, he 
had a secret store of jewels in his purse, was 
never known. 

But one day the heavens were black with 
clouds and tempest. A heavy thunderstorm 



THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 141 

broke over the city. The rain descended in 
floods. The stagnant air was purified by in- 
cessant flashes of lightning. Fra Benedict's 
face was radiant with joy. He calmed the 
fears of the children, and assured them that 
the pestilence would now rapidly abate and 
soon pass away. 

And he was right. The number of daily 
deaths, which had before fallen from thou- 
sands to hundreds, now sank to tens, and soon 
to threes and twos. The dead cart scarcely 
gleaned any victims in its long circuit. Those 
who had fled from the city returned. The 
deserted houses were reopened. The grass- 
grown streets were again trodden. The voice 
of joy and health was heard again in many 
homes, and the merry laughter of children 
once more greeted the ear of the passer-by. 
Ships again ventured from the Gulf of Genoa 
into the harbor. And after the lapse of 
another fortnight it was announced, in the 
market-place and in the churches, that the 
city was free from the plague. 



142 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 

Then a day of public thanksgiving was 
proclaimed ; and it was ordered that all who 
had deserved well of their city in this its time 
of sorest calamity should repair to the council 
hall, and receive a medal of honor. Many a, 
healed sufferer said Fra Benedict will assur- 
edly receive the highest honor which Genoa 
can bestow. On the evening before the day 
of public rejoicing he stole quietly to the 
homes of those whom he had made his friends. 
They vainly urged him to present his claim on 
the morrow ; but he answered mysteriously, 
" My presence is needed elsewhere : farewell." 
Leonardi's daughter Lucrece, at his request, 
undertook with tears of gratitude the guardi- 
anship of Beatrice ; and Agathon, with joy, 
that of Claude. And then Benedict went 
among his own friends, and bade them adieu, 
saying, " We shall meet again in a city 
which no pestilence shall ever shadow, and 
where never a mourner's tear shall be dropped 
on the pavement of transparent gold. Till 
then, farewell." 



THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 143 

And so it fell out : after midnight no man 
saw him more. Some thought that he went, 
as he came, in a little boat to a vessel lying 
off shore ; others affirmed that a strange 
chariot was seen waiting after sunset outside 
the city gates ; while others boldly main- 
tained their belief that he was translated like 
Enoch. But as the citizens met in groups on 
the morrow morning, the question instinc- 
tively passed from lip to lip, " Was he not 
rightly named Fra Benedict?" 



o>^o 



"\ T 7HEN Oberlin laid down his manuscript, 
his grandchildren looked up silently 
for a few moments into his still speaking 
countenance, just as if he were in their eyes 
what Benedict had been to the orphans of 
Genoa. But the silence was broken by Robin 
the gardener (for whom Marie had pleaded a 
seat next herself at their Sunday evening 



144 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 

readings), saying, " Well, that is the beauti- 
fullest story that ever I did hear : not that I 
know the meaning of all the words in it ; still 
it went to my heart. But pray, sir, why was 
that kind-hearted doctor rightly called Fra 
Benedict?" 

" Because," said Oberlin, " Fra means 
brother, and Benedict means blessed ; and is 
not one who heals the sick a blessed brother 
to them ? " 

"Then, sir," eagerly asked Marie, " is not 
Fra Benedict in your story Jesus Christ ? " 

" Just so far," answered Oberlin, u as the 
Lord Jesus is the Good Physician of our souls. 
But we must remember that, while He is the 
Great and Good Physician, He employs thou- 
sands and thousands of His servants in the 
same work in every land ; and they, too, are 
good physicians : only they derive all their 
skill and power from Him. But you have 
begun with the last words of my parable. 
Let us examine it a little more in order. Our 
time is very short ; but this matters less, as 



THE FLAGTJE-STRICKEN CITY. 145 

the parable almost interprets itself. My little 
Roschen will tell us what that dreadful plague 

represents? " 

••Sin, grandfather, is it not?" answered 
Roschen, " and all the sorrow that sin brings 
with it. But was there ever such a plague in 
ItalyV" 

••Indeed there was." said Oberlin, "in the 
rear of our Lord 1348. too : nor did I exag- 
gerate the numbers which Antoninus. Arch- 
bishop of Florence, said died in that city. 
But it was not confined to Italy only. In the 
course of a few years it overspread most of 
Europe." 

••I read/ 9 said Adolphe, ;; not long ago, an 
account of the plague of London in the reign 
of Charles II. : that is hardly, you know, 
more than two hundred years ago. and I do 
not tliink any thing in grandfather's parable 
was more terrible than that history. I remem- 
ber there, it was said, many became mad from 
terror, and threw themselves into the Thames. 
They had the same kind of " dead-cart ' going 

10 



146 THE PLAGXJE-STBICKEN CITY. 

about to collect the bodies, the same kind of 
hospitals which they called ' pest houses,' the 
same deep trenches for burying the corpses. 
The grass grew then in the middle of what 
had been crowded streets. And the people 
thought they saw fearful signs in the heav- 
ens." 

" But, grandfather," said Gustave, " surely 
people never were really so foolish as to think 
that building a hermitage outside the city 
walls would stop the plague. That you put 
in," he added archly, " did you not, to make 
up the parable ? " 

" You shall read us aloud, Gustave," replied 
Oberlin, " just one extract from a history of 
the plague which desolated Naples A. D. 1656 
(reach me the sixteenth volume of the ' Ency- 
clopaedia Britannica ' ), that you may see I 
have not overdrawn the terrors and super- 
stitions of a people who have not the Word 
of God in their hands, in such a visitation as 
the plague. There — " 

[Gustave reads.] " i The distemper, being 



THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 147 

neglected, made a most rapid and furious 
progress, and filled the whole city with con- 
sternation. The streets were crowded with 
confused processions, which served to spread 
the infection through all the quarters. The 
terror of the people increased their super- 
stition ; and it being reported that a certain 
nun had prophesied that the pestilence would 
cease upon building a hermitage for her sister 
nuns upon the hill of St. Martin, the edifice 
was immediately begun with the most ardent 
zeal. Persons of the highest quality strove 
who should perform the meanest offices ; some 
loading themselves with beams, and others 
carrying baskets full of lime and nails, while 
persons of all ranks stripped themselves of 
their most valuable effects, which they threw 
into empty hogsheads placed in the streets to 
receive the charitable contributions. Their 
violent agitation and the increasing heats 
diffused the malady through the whole city, 
and the streets and the stairs of the churches 
were filled with the dead, the number of 



148 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 

whom for some time of the month of July 
amounted daily to fifteen thousand. ... A 
violent and plentiful rain falling about the 
middle of August, the distemper began to 
abate ; and on December 8th the physicians 
made a solemn declaration that the city was 
entirely free from infection. 5 " 

" Well," continued Oberlin, " there you 
have the dry facts of history; but I think 
you will find almost all the points of my 
story have some counterpart in the ravages 
of sin and the healing virtue of the Gospel. 
What does the Bible say about the close con- 
nection between sin and death ? " 

" Do you mean that text in the Romans, 
grandfather," said Adolphe, " where St. Paul 
says : ; By one man sin entered into the world, 
and death by sin ; and so death passed upon 
all men, for that all have sinned ; ' 1 or that 
where St. James says, ' Every man is tempted 
when he is drawn away of his own lust, and 
enticed. Then when lust hath conceived it 

i Rom. v. 12. 



THE PLAGUE-STKICKEN CITY. 149 

bringeth forth sin : and sin, when it is finished, 
bringeth forth death ? ' " 1 

" And you know," continued Airn£e, " there 
is a terrible picture of a sinful land as smit- 
ten by disease, in the beginning of Isaiah : 
' The whole head is sick, and the whole heart 
faint. From the soul of the foot even unto 
the head there is no soundness in it ; but 
wounds and bruises and putrefying sores: 
they have not been closed, neither bound up, 
neither mollified with ointment.' " 2 

" They would not let them toll the bell 
lest it should frighten people more. What 
does that mean, grandfather ? " asked Ros- 
chen. 

" Well, my child," answered Oberlin, " the 
world says as little as it can about sin and 
death ; but its silence does not alter the fact ; 
the plague is there. Could any of 3^011 see 
a meaning in the different symptoms of the 
malady ? " 

The children were silent, and Oberlin con* 
1 James i. 14, 15. 2 Isa. i. 5, 6. 



150 THE PLAGUE -STBICKEN CITY. 

tinued : "You remember the pestilence 
sometimes attacked the throat, and some- 
times the brain; in some cases it broke out 
with burning spots all over the body, and in 
others, while affecting the heart, was discern- 
ible only by a flush in the cheek and a wild 
lustre in the eye ; but in all there was a 
craving thirst. Well, does not the love of 
sin seem so to choke some people that they 
cannot breathe the pure air of life, and makes 
others dizzy, so that they fall headlong, or 
cast themselves away ? Does not sin break 
out in loathsome spots in some lives which 
all may see ; and in others only appears by 
a strange excitement and unrest ? But do 
not all alike thirst for a happiness they have 
not, and never can have, apart from Jesus 
Christ?" 

" Oh, yes, grandfather," said Gustave, " but 
one thing puzzled me. I do not think that 
all bad people are so horribly selfish as those 
who left their sick friends to suffer and die 
alone. I am sure wicked people sometimes 
seem to me very kind to one another." 



THE PLAGUE-STK1CKEN CITY. " 151 

Oberlin smiled, and answered: "Thank 
God, you have not come across the path of 
many wicked people yet, Gustave. But you 
may take this for certain : the natural kind- 
ness of bad people who are kind (and I quite 
agree with you there are some such) does 
not come from their badness, but from better 
instincts not yet crushed in them. And those, 
who are called to "deal with evil men, must 
always try and fasten on any of these good 
feelings, and make the most they can of them, 
while directing the sinner's eye to Jesus the 
only Saviour. But this, too, is certain, — that 
sin, so far as it gets possession of a man, shuts 
God out of the heart, and so shuts love out, 
for God is love. But our time is rapidly 
passing. What did you make, my children, 
of the helplessness of the Genoese physicians 
to cure those stricken of the plague ? " 

"I thought," said Marie, wt of that poor 
woman of whom you read, sir, this morning, 
who ( had suffered many things of many 
physicians, and had spent all that she had, 



152 THE PLAGUE-STEICKEN CITY. 

and was nothing bettered, but rather grew 



worse.' " 1 

" And I remembered/' said Aimee, " that 
which always seems to me one of the most 
tearful texts in the Bible : fc Is there no 
balm in Gilead ; is there no physician there ? 
Why then is not the health of the daughter 
of my people recovered ? ' " 2 

" And see," said Adolphe, " here is a text, 
also in Jeremiah, which answers exactly: 
4 Thy bruise is incurable, and thj wound is 
grievous. There is none to plead thy cause, 
that thou mayest be bound up : thou hast no 
healing medicines.' " 3 

" Look on to the 17th verse of that chap- 
ter, Adolphe," interposed Oberlin, " and 
you will find the promise, 4 I will restore 
health unto thee, and I will heal thee of thy 
wounds, saith the Lord.' What corresponds 
to this in our parable?" 

All answered, "Why, this is just what 
Fra Benedict did." 

i Mark v. 26. 2 Jer. viii. 22. 3 j er . xxx . 12, 18. 



THE PLAGUE-STMCKEN CITY. 153 

"Yes, my children," Oberlin continued, 
" this is the blessed work of the Gospel, 
God's remedy for sin ; that Gospel which 
tells of God our Father's forgiving love, and 
of God our Saviour dying on the cross for us, 
and of God the Holy Spirit making our 
hearts new and holy ; that Gospel which was 
foreshadowed in the Old Testament, and 
preached by Jesus Christ Himself, and then 
committed by Him to His apostles and mes- 
sengers ; that Gospel which is freely offered 
to all without money and without price, 
which is especially welcomed by the poor, 
but which saves all who receive it. Our 
time will not suffer us to-night to compare 
all Fra Benedict's experiences with our 
Bibles ; but we will talk of them during the 
week. And you will find how Leonard!, 
who trusted in his offerings to the hermitage 
and died miserably, while the poor man at 
his gate was cured, points out the supersti- 
tious man ; how Rinaldo, the treasurer, who 
scorned a remedy which would cost him 



154 THE PLAGUE-STKICKEN CITY. 

nothing, represents the pro ad man ; how 
Lorenzo de' Medici, who thought his own 
potent drug would save him if any thing 
could, signifies the self-righteous man ; and 
how Giovanni, who thought the remedy far 
too simple, is a type of the learned world, 
which in its wisdom esteems the Gospel to 
be foolishness. Then, further, you will see in 
the three orphan children a picture of three 
different classes of character: some, like 
Guido, have benumbed their powers and 
hardened their hearts, and perish in their 
sins : some, like Beatrice, are early and soon 
convinced of their guilt and need, and yield 
gratefully to the treatment of the Good Phy- 
sician : while others, like Claude, for a long 
while refuse, so that sin gets a stronger 
grasp of their hearts, but yet, submitting at 
last to the Gospel, are saved through much 
suffering and many struggles. Then Claude 
and Beatrice, becoming messengers to other 
sick folk, remind us how ail who have found 
the Lord Jesus themselves must tell others 



THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 155 

of His love. Also Lucrece and Agathon, 
being healed, speak of the few rich and noble 
who embrace the truth of the Gospel ; while 
the forlorn old woman and the blind beggar, 
being raised from their misery and disease 
and employed in ministering to others, bid 
us not to despise or despair of any, for it is 
God's good pleasure often to take the poor 
from the dust and the beggar from the dung- 
hill, and to set them among princes, and to 
make them inherit the throne of glory." 1 

There was a moment's pause, and Roschen 
said, " Grandfather, had Fra Benedict jewels 
in his purse ? " 

" The parable," answered Oberlin, smiling, 
" only said that this was never known ; so 
how can I tell ? This we know, that Jesus 
Christ never lets His servants want any thing 
that is really good. I can only suppose that 
Benedict's secret store was the promise, ' My 
God shall supply all your need according to 
His riches in glory in Christ Jesus.'" 2 
11 Sain. ii. 8. 2 Phil. iv. 19. 



156 THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 

" May I ask one question more ? " said old 
Robin, humbly. " Why did not the good 
man wait a few hours more to receive the 
medal of honor ? To my thinking he would 
have found it useful in other cities." 

" Ah, my friend," replied Oberlin, " neither 
does the parable tell us this. This we know, 
our Master sought not honor of men; nor 
did His apostles snatch at the glories of this 
world ; and the best saints of every age have 
been poor in spirit. The joy of Jesus Christ 
and of His servants is in the salvation of 
sinners and the glory of God. But grateful 
love is the truest wealth ; and every true- 
hearted disciple is waiting his reward in the 
holy Jerusalem above, — that city of the 
living God which no pestilence can ever 
darken with the shadow of death." 



EUGENE THE DEBTOK. 



N days of old, before 
the colossal empire 
of Rome bestrode the 
world, there was an 
extensive and fertile 
province in Asia, 
where every city 
with its surrounding 
towns and villages 
formed a little state 
or principality by 
itself. Some of these states did not number 
more than a few thousand inhabitants ; but 
each had its own king, its own laws, its own 
usages, and not seldom its own costumes. 
The throne of royalty was usually the throne 
of judgment. The monarch not only wielded 
the sceptre and his sword, but all important 




158 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 

causes were tried before him in person. His 
decision was final ; there was no appeal. 
But the land having been originally colonized 
by Greek settlers, the names Solon, Lycur- 
gus, Aristides, and other wise men of Greece 
overshadowed the minds of all ; public opin- 
ion held the scales very equally, and injustice 
was rarely done. 

In one of the largest of these states it was 
that Andronicus reigned. He was the father 
of his people. He and his only son Agathos 
lived not only in their own hospitable palace, 
but in the hearts of their people. It appeared 
that they only held power that they might 
use it for the advantage of others. The 
goodness of the king was in every one's lips. 
And yet he was inflexible in the administra- 
tion of the just and liberal code of laws which 
he had himself drawn up for the government 
of his state. He never swerved to the right 
hand or to the left, for rich or poor. I say 
rich or poor ; for the mother city of his realm 
lying on the sea coast, and having a brisk 



EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 159 

trade with foreign lands, poverty would have 
been unknown, but — 

There is always a but in human history ; — 
there was a powerful and designing merchant, 
called Draco, whose only object, it seemed, 
was to amass immense wealth, and buy up all 
the houses and wharves and waste sites for 
building upon which he could laj^ his hands. 
For this end it was his wont to lend the un- 
wary trader or the unsuspecting heir large 
sums of money at extravagant rates of inter- 
est ; and then, if the gold were not repaid to 
the very day, he would come down upon the 
luckless defaulter like a vulture on a straying 
lamb, and claim the immediate forfeiture of 
the bond. There had been already many 
wrecks of noble families, the unhappj^ victims 
either languishing in the debtor's prison, or 
fleeing from justice, self-banished exiles from 
their native shore. It might have been 
thought that the sight of so much misery 
would have deterred others in the same city 
from falling into the same snares. But the 



160 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 

headstrong passions of some, or with others 
the love of display, or the thirst for pleasure, 
or the fever of money-getting, drew them, as 
moths are drawn to the burning flame, into the 
clutches of the sleepless and rapacious Draco. 
The king was deeply grieved. He did not 
think it right, for reasons of high state policy, 
to arrest the exacting money lender at 
present. The proofs of his injustice were 
accumulating, but they were not yet com- 
plete. The reckoning-day would come at 
last, and then Draco's ruin would be a terri- 
ble example to generations yet unborn. More- 
over, his victims were in all cases themselves 
sorely to blame. Andronicus therefore waited, 
because he saw further than other men. But 
meanwhile he issued many royal letters, 
warning his subjects plainly of the dangers 
which they might otherwise incur unawares, 
and announcing the inevitable course of law, 
namely, that bonds and imprisonment awaited 
every condemned debtor till his debts should 
be discharged. These letters proved the 
salvation of many. 



EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 161 

But there was a young man, named Eugene, 
of noble birth, who had been brought up at 
the most eminent school of the city, a school 
at which the king's son had himself been 
educated for a while, upon whom all the 
counsels of his parents and the disastrous 
falls of others, and even the entreaties of 
Agathos, seemed thrown away. The love of 
pleasure and of self-indulgence overmastered 
him. And yet there were some fine and 
generous traits in his character ; and the 
royal prince had already more than once ex- 
pressed his attachment to the ardent and 
impetuous Eugene. 

Months and years passed by ; Agathos had 
long since been called by Anclronicus to share 
with him the weightier duties of royalty. 
And Eugene, after the death of his father, 
had come into the possession of wealth, which, 
though already impaired by his extravagance, 
was still amply sufficient to gratify every 
reasonable desire. But by degrees he threw 
off one restraint after another. Like the 

11 



162 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 

prodigal son described in the parable, he 
wasted his substance with riotous living. 
And then it was, alas ! that he was open to 
the dark and insidious designs of Draco, who 
had long coveted the ancestral domains of 
his house. In an evil hour the hapless young 
man signed a ruinous bond, wherein he cov- 
enanted, for the immediate advance of a few 
thousand pieces of gold, to make over his 
mansion and lands to the usurer if the money 
were not repaid at fixed brief intervals. For 
a few short weeks he lived again in luxury 
and splendor, and then, being unable to pay 
the first instalment that was due, he was 
seized by Draco's orders in the midst of his 
indulgences, and dragged before the magis- 
trates, and cast into prison. 

The object of Draco, however, was the pa- 
triarchal inheritance of Eugene. For this a 
trial in the court of assize was necessary. A 
day was fixed. The king Andronicus sat 
on the seat of judgment. All who had any 
claims against the debtor were summoned. 



EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 163 

And in truth the court was thronged with 
creditors ; for the debts of the unhappy pris- 
oner extended over a period of ten years and 
more. 

The confusion depicted on Eugene's counte- 
nance grew deeper and deeper. There were 
many debts he had altogether forgotten, and 
which yet upon a single word being spoken 
flashed upon his recollection. And there 
were many things of which he was bitterly 
ashamed that they should ever be named 
before his fellow-citizens and his king. But 
nothing now could be hidden ; claim after 
claim was substantiated; debt after debt 
was incontestably proved ; yea, being asked 
whether he himself admitted the justice of 
the demands, Eugene could only answer: 
" It is useless to deny them ; I am verily 
guilty ; I can only throw myself on the mercy 
of my king." 

But then Andronicus commanded one of 
the chief men of the city, who sat near him 
on the bench of judgment, to read aloud the 



164 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 

statute which related to criminal debt and its 
punishment. And the statute was plain and 
unmistakable, and it ran thus : " Let the 
house of the debtor who is convicted in open 
court be sold, together with his wife and 
children, if he be a husband and father, and 
let the proceeds go to satisfy, so far as they 
will, the just claims of his creditors ; and let 
the debtor himself be put in chains and kept 
in prison till the uttermost farthing of the 
debt be paid." 

As these heavy words were slowly read 
aloud, the face of Draco assumed a settled 
cast of malignant satisfaction ; but an irrepres- 
sible sigh of compassion broke from many in 
the court to see one so young, and born to 
nobler destiny, so miserably cast away. 

Now, however, the king asked, as he was 
wont to do, whether the prisoner or his 
friends had any thing to urge in arrest of judg- 
ment, and said he would pause half an hour 
for a reply ; but that, if nothing were alleged 
in that space, he would proceed to give sen- 
tence. 



EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 165 

Oh, that terrible interval ! This vision of 
his home and of his wife and innocent babes 
(for he had married one who was not unwor- 
thy of his father's position) flashed upon his 
mind, and then all the folly of his reckless 
course, and then the long interminable years 
of prison life which were before him. He felt 
faint and sick at heart, and a deadly paleness 
overspread his countenance. 

But the minutes were slipping by. Half the 
time had passed. He looked with anxious, 
agitated glance around the crowded court. 
But as he did so, he felt that his case was 
alike helpless and hopeless. His debts were 
of such magnitude that none of his friends 
could even dream of discharging them. And 
the words broke almost unconsciously from 
his lips, " Woe is me ! I am undone." 

At this moment, when the king must in a 
few minutes more pronounce the sentence, 
and the notary-public was preparing to record 
the judgment in the register of the city, a 
voice was heard, " Make way for the prince ; 



166 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 

Agathos is here." It was even so : and he 
advanced quickly hut calmly through the 
crowd, which parted to the right hand and 
the left, until he stood beside his father's 
throne. A few earnest words passed between 
Andronicus and his son ; no one heard the 
whispered sentences ; but some said after- 
wards that they were narrowly watching the 
king's countenance the while, and saw a won- 
derful benevolence light up his eye and a 
tender smile play over his lip. But after the 
briefest pause Agathos, now facing the judge 
and now the prisoner, spoke as follows : — 

" Father, I own that the sentence, which 
has been read from the statute-book of the 
city, is just. Eugene has heaped up debts 
which he can never pay, and has merited 
bonds and imprisonment. But, father, as thou 
knowest, I have loved that young man from 
of old. And thou lovest him, even as I love. 
His own folly and our common adversary 
have ruined him. He is undone. But love 
saves the lost. And, father, though it will 



EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 167 

cost me one-half of that royal inheritance 
which thou hast given me, here in thy pres- 
ence, and with thy approval, — for thou hast 
assured me it is thy good pleasure even as it- 
is mine, — I undertake to pay poor Eugene's 
debts to the very last farthing and mite. 
Father, the payment is here." 

At the prince's word a train of slaves 
entered into the court bearing bags of gold 
and caskets of jewels. Every creditor was 
summoned. Every claim was investigated. 
Every debt was paid then and there. 

It were quite impossible to describe what 
feelings were passing in Eugene's mind, while 
these words fell from the lips of his prince 
and were made good before his eyes. He 
was struck dumb with wonder and gratitude. 
But when the last receipt was signed, and 
Agathos stepping up to him said, " Eugene, 
my friend, my brother, wilt thou accept these 
certificates which assure thee that thy debts 
are all paid?" it entirely broke liim down; 
he threw himself at the feet of his prince, 



168 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 

he bathed them with tears, and, while he 
fervently grasped the certificates and thrust 
them into his bosom, could only answer with 
a voice broken by sobs, " My prince, I have 
nothing but my worthless self to offer thee : 
but such as I am, I am thine for ever." 

This memorable day, however, was not 
over yet. When the murmur of grateful 
applause in the court was with difficulty 
stilled, Agathos again advanced to the side of 
Andronicus, and said in the audience of all, 
" Father, the debts of Eugene are paid; but 
he must not go forth from this court a penni- 
less pauper. Half of my inheritance still re- 
mains to me ; and with part of it I here and 
now, before all, and with thy full sanction, 
O, my father, buy back all the property and 
estate which Eugene has from time to time 
alienated and sold ; and of this and of all the 
remainder of my wealth I make him joint-heir 
and joint-possessor with myself. If the title- 
deeds stood only in his name he might be 
tempted again to endanger or even forfeit 



EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 169 

them. I have, therefore, had them drawn in 
my name and his ; but the free use and enjoy- 
ment of them shall belong to him as equal 
owner with myself. Here, Eugene, is the 
deed which makes thee with me rightful lord 
of this still magnificent inheritance. Only 
stretch forth thy hand and take it: all is 
thine, for I share all mine with thee." 

To seize the parchment, and cast himself 
again at the prince's feet, and to exclaim, 
" O, princely Agathos, my life, and not my 
lips, must speak my love," was the irresistible 
prompting of the heart of Eugene. Nor was 
there a tearless eye in that crowded hall of 
justice (save only Draco's, whose baffled 
greed and malice were ill concealed by a 
scowl of defiance), when, to ratify the words 
which had been spoken and the covenant 
which had been made, the king took his 
signet-ring off his finger, and himself placed 
it on the right hand of Eugene in token of 
his adoption into the royal family. But they 
were tears of joy, and soon followed by excla- . 



170 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 

mations of delight. For now Agathos threw 
his own purple cloak over his friend, and 
made him ride by his side in the royal chariot, 
and the shouts were taken up by the multi- 
tudes in the streets, as they together drove 
towards the mansion of Eugene. Only the 
prince suffered no one to go in with him 
while Eugene broke the glad tidings to his 
wife. She had been in an agony of appre- 
hension. One look at his radiant face was 
enough. Let it suffice to say that her heart, 
with her husband's, and the hearts of their 
children as they grew up, were for ever knit 
to the prince and his royal father. In the few 
but deep words of Eugene, " Their life spoke 
their love." 

IVTO sooner had Oberlin ceased reading than 
" old Robin," as the children called 
him, — though in truth he was but little over 
fifty years of age, and had three young bairns 
of his own, having married late in life after 



EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 171 

his honorable discharge from the army, — ex- 
claimed, " Well, sir, I have seen a good deal 
of life, and heard more ; but I must say I 
never saw or heard of a man doing like that 
young prince. I think men were kinder in 
those heathen times than they are in ours." 

"No," said Marie, who had never taken 
her eyes off her master from the first w^ord of 
the story to the last, " you are wrong there, 
Robin. Why, there's many and many a one 
among our French Protestant forefathers (I'm 
often proud to think their blood runs in my 
old veins) who laid down their lives for one 
another." 

"That's true, Marie," answered Oberlin, 
" an ancestor of mine died, that a shepherd 
lad on his estate might escape. But we 
must take our story as it stands. A parable 
is something like a walnut : you must crack 
or open the shell, and then pick out the 
sweet, nutritious meat, here a bit and there 
a bit, a little fragment at a time. Let us 
now open our Bible, and see if it does not 



172 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 

shed light on the eventful life of Eugene the 
debtor." 

" Well, grandfather," said Gustave, " of 
course by the city and the state of which it 
was the capital our world is meant." 

" And by its good laws arid courts of jus- 
tice," added Adolphe, " the righteous govern- 
ment of God." 

" Yes," chimed in little Roschen, "I saw 
at once by Andronicus and Agathos his 
son we were to understand God our 
Father and Jesus Christ our Lord ; and, 
grandfather, would not that psalm which I 
learned for you last week, the 8th Psalm, 
tell this, for it begins and ends with the same 
words, ' O Lord, our Lord, how excellent is 
Thy name in all the earth ? ' " 

"It would, my child," replied Oberlin; 
" and then you know the Lord Jesus shares 
the throne of royalty with His Father, as 
He says, 4 1 have overcome, and am set down 
with my Father on His throne ; ' * and so it 

I Rev. iii. 21. 



EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 173 

is called afterwards ' the throne of God and 
of the Lamb.' " 

" And that, I suppose," continued Aimee, 
" was what the parable intended by saying 
the king and his son reigned not only in their 
palace home, but in the hearts of their people ; 
as when Jesus said to Mary at the sepulchre, 
1 1 ascend to my Father and your Father, and 
to my God and your God.' " 

"And then, of course," added Gustave, 
" that cruel and crafty trader, Draco, was 
the devil, who tries to make men sell their 
souls for the pleasures of sin, which are but 
for a season. 1 But I do not see, grandfather, 
how poverty could ever be unknown in this 
world. Almost all persons seem to me to be 
wanting something which they have not. I 
am sure I want a pony." 

" Well, Gustave r " said Oberlin, laughing, 

" you know the proverb, ' If wishes were 

horses, then beggars might ride.' Work 

hard, my boy, and you will very likely be 

1 Heb. xi. 25. 



174 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 

master of a horse one day. But to return to 
our parable : I quite admit that in the world 
as it is there is poverty enough, — I mean 
heart poverty, lack of the true riches which 
consist in the enjoyment of God's love and 
in the delight of serving Him. Only remem- 
ber, no one need be really poor in these di- 
vine treasures, for God has blessed us with 
all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in 
Christ ; l and as to earthly possessions, we 
read, ' Godliness with contentment is great 
gain (or merchandise, as the word might be 
rendered), for we brought nothing into this 
world, and it is certain we can carry nothing 
out ; and having food and raiment, let us be 
therewith content ' 2 — even without a pony^ 
Gustave." 

" Why does the devil desire man's inher- 
itance ? " asked Adolphe. " I have often 
wondered what use this world would be to 
a mighty spirit like the devil, even if he got 
possession of it." 

iEph. i. 3. 2 1 Tim. vi. 6-8. 



EUGEXE THE DEBTOR. 175 

" That is a deeper question," answered 
Oberlin, " than can be answered in five words 
or five volumes of words. It has exercised 
the minds of the deepest thinkers. But I 
believe it is a riddle that no one can fully 
explain on this side of the judgment-da v. 
One thing we may safely say, the devil 
desires this world for his own inheritance, 
because it is Christ's inheritance. And the 
devil hates Christ with a fathomless hatred. 
It was the devil who stirred up the wicked 
husbandmen to say, when they saw the only 
and beloved son of the lord of the vineyard 
coming to claim the tribute of fruits, ' This 
is the heir: come let us kill him, and the 
inheritance shall be ours.' 1 However, we 
have to do with the solemn facts as they are. 
And this is certain, the devil does try by 
every means to make men waste their pre- 
cious life here and lose their immortal life 
hereafter." 

" Yes," said Roschen, " Marie taught me 

iMark xii. 6, 7. 



176 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 

that text last week: 'Be sober, be vigilant, 
because your adversary, the devil, goeth 
about as a roaring lion, seeking whom he 
may devour ; ' 1 for we had been talking of 
the three boys in our story ' Over the Hills 
Homeward,' and it is the most dreadful text 
in the Bible. I could hardly get to sleep at 
night for thinking of it. But why, grand- 
father, does not God shut up this roaring 
lion in an iron cage, like those we saw a year 
ago in the menagerie ? " 

" Because God's time is not yet come, my 
lamb," replied Oberlin, looking tenderly and 
fondly on the anxious face upturned to him. 
" But we are told in Rev. xx. that one day 
the devil will be seized and bound with a 
great chain, and cast into the bottomless pit 
for a thousand years, and then, shortly after 
that, will be cast into the lake of fire for ever 
and ever. 4 God,' says Augustine, c is patient, 
because He is eternal.' But meanwhile, 
whenever you think of Marie's text, think 

1 1 Peter v. 8. 



EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 1 I i 

also of the promise of the Good Shepherd: 
4 My sheep shall never perish, neither shall 
any one pluck them out of my hand.' 1 

" Our parable," said Aimee, "told us the 
king did not think fit to arrest Draco imme- 
diately, and this because he saw further 
than other men. I suppose the royal let- 
ters he issued meant the warnings of the 
Bible." 

" What a thousand pities it was," exclaimed 
Gustave, " that Eugene did not heed them ! 
Backed as they were by the entreaties of 
his royal school-fellow, it really was un- 
pardonable in him to act right in the teeth of 
them." 

" And yet, Gustave," replied Oberlin, " the 
parable only etched what every one does who 
listens to the tempter and lives in sin ; for 
the Bible tells him plainly, ' The way of 
transgressors is hard,' 2 and ' The wages of sin 
is death ' ; 3 and more than all, the Lord Jesus, 

1 John x. 28. 2 Prov. xiii. 15. 3 Rom. vi. 23. 
12 



178 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 

the king's son, who designed to learn obedi- 
ence by the things which He suffered 1 in the 
same school our Father has appointed for us, 
entreats all to watch and pray lest they enter 
into temptation." 

" Yes, grandfather," answered Gustave, 
" but it would be so different if we could 
actually see the craft}^ master, and hear the 
words of the prince, and go in and out before 
the king. Oh, I do so wish that we were 
really face to face with all these things ! 
They seem so airy and dream-like." 

" You want," said Oberlin, u that things 
unseen should be seen. You would leap into 
eternity without the education of time. No, 
my boy, we must now fight the good fight of 
faith, and faith is the evidence of things not 
seen." 2 

" Still, grandfather," urged Gustave, u it is 
so hard, it seems like fighting with shadows, 
though I know they are all real." 

" They are real," said Oberlin earnestly. 
I Heb. v. 8/ 2 Heb. xi. 1. 



EUGEXE THE DEBTOR. 179 

" Sin and Satan, and death and hell, are no 
shadows ; nor, thank God, is life a shadow, 
nor Christ, nor holiness, nor heaven. But I 
am so glad you named, Gustave, how hard 
you find it to realize things invisible. For it 
is what we all find more or less. Some find 
it harder than others : but the harder the 
battle the greater the victory. Only remem- 
ber, we cannot win in our own strength : we 
need and we have the promise of the Holy 
Spirit's help. What were the words, Aimee, 
you repeated this morning from Keble's 
lovely poem for the fourth Sunday after 
Easter ? " 

" You mean, grandfather, 

' Swiftly and straight each tongue of flame 
Through cloud and breeze unwavering came, 
And darted to its place of rest, 
On some meek brow by Jesus bless'd. 
Nor fades it yet, that living gleam, 
And still those lambent lightnings stream ; 
Where'er the Lord is there are they ; 

In every heart that gives them room, 
They light His altar every day, 

Zeal to inflame and vice consume. 



180 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 

Soft as the plumes of Jesus' dove, 
They nurse the soul to heavenly love ; 
The struggling spark of good within, 
Just smother'd in the strife of sin, 
They quicken to a timely glow, 
The pure flame spreading high and low. 
Said I, that prayer and faith were o'er ? 

Nay, blessed Spirit ! but by Thee 
The Church's prayer finds wing to soar, 

The Church's hope finds eyes to see. 

Then, fainting soul, arise and sing ; 

Mount, but be sober on the wing ; — 

Mount up, for Heaven is won by prayer ; 

Be sober, for thou art not there. 

Till death the weary spirit free, 

Thy God hath said, 'Tis good for thee 

To walk by faith and not by sight : 

Take it on trust a little while ; 
Soon shalt thou read the mystery right 

In the full sunshine of His smile.' " 

" Thank you, mj child," said Oberlin, 
" those words are always fresh. Here is the 
only hope for us all, old and young, even in 
the daily baptism of fire with which Jesus 
baptizes every faithful heart." 

" But how, sir," asked Marie, " can the 
day of trial in the assize court be said to be 



EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 181 

now in this life ? I always thought of stand- 
ing before the judgment-seat after death, 
when this life's accounts were made up." 

" That's quite true," answered Oberlin. 
" ' It is appointed unto men once to die, and 
after this the judgment.'" 1 

" That is the judgment of the whole world 
after the general resurrection in the last day ; 
but it is also true, that when God of His 
infinite mercy awakens a sinner to see his 
true condition now, He holds, as it were, His 
assize court in the heart ; the soul is brought 
before His tribunal ; He Himself sits on the 
judgment-seat ; His holy law is the standard ; 
the devil accuses ; conscience and memory 
are witnesses ; and the poor sinner cannot 
answer the judge one thing in a thousand, as 
the patriarch says, 2 ; Nay, in such an hour of 
solemn retrospect, when our past lies before 
us, and every hour condemns us, the poor 
sinner can but cry, I am verily guilty; I 
throw myself on the mercy of God.' " 

iHeb. ix. 27. 2 j b ix. 2, 3. 



182 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 

" And yet, dear sir," said Robin, " even 
that did not avail poor Eugene : he only 
heard chains and prison by law were the 
poor debtor's lot." 

" And does the law of God hold out 
any hope to us, Robin ? " replied Oberlin. 
" Adolphe, read to us Galatians hi. 10-13." 

" ' For as many as are of the works of the 
law are under the curse : for it is written, 
Cursed is every one that continueth not in 
all things which are written in the book of 
the law to do them. But that no man is 
justified by the law in the sight of God, it is 
evident ; for the just shall live by faith, and 
the law is not of faith, but the man that 
doeth them shall live in them. Christ hath 
redeemed us from the curse of the law, being 
made a curse for us, for it is written, Cursed 
is every one that hangeth on a tree.' " 

" Ah ! my children," continued Oberlin, 
" here we have both the condemnation and 
the deliverance. But while that terrible curse 
is shadowing the soul, what peace or comfort 



EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 183 

can the convicted sinner have ? will lie not, 
like Eugene, think of all the happiness he 
has thrown away, and of all the dark sins 
which have stained his life, and of all the 
dreary prospect of an everlasting present, that 
prison from which Jesus says 1 the captive 
debtor shall never come out till he has paid 
the uttermost farthing ? Can his friends 
help him ? Can angels pay his debts for 
him ? Nay, it costs more to redeem man's 
precious soul, so that men and angels must 
let that alone for ever." 

" Oh ! grandfather, I see it all now," cried 
little Roschen eagerly: "I thought I did 
before, "tmt now I am sure. Jesus is our 
Agathos ; He paid our debts by dying upon 
the cross." 

" Is not this," added Adolphe, " what 
Elihu meant when he comforted Job ? ' If 
there be a messenger with him, an inter- 
preter, one among a thousand, to show unto 
man his uprightness: then he is gracious 
1 Matt. v. 26. 



184 ETJGEKE THE DEBTOR. 

unto him, and saith, Deliver him from going 
down to the pit, I have found a ransom. . . . 
He looketh upon men, and if any say, I have 
sinned, and perverted that which was right, 
and it profited me not, he will deliver his 
soul from going into the pit, and his life shall 
see the light."' 1 

" And then, brother," said Aimee, " this is 
made yet more plain in the New Testament, 
where St. John says : ' If anj man sin, we 
have an advocate with the Father, Jesus 
Christ the righteous ; and He is the propitia- 
tion for our sins.' " 2 

" Those two scriptures," said Oberlin, 
smiling, " are the warp and woof of my par- 
able. Yes, the ransom price, even the inesti- 
mably precious blood of Jesus, satisfies every 
claim. His blood cleanses from all sin. And 
then, although we stand before the tribunal 
of infinite spotless justice, it is a Father's 
throne ; and He loves us so as Himself to 
have planned with His only begotten Son 

1 Job xxxiii. 24-8. 2 1 John ii. 2. 



EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 185 

the way of our escape. I could only speak 
in the parable of Agathos giving half his 
inheritance in the payment of Eugene's debts, 
and the remainder as a joint portion for 
Eugene and himself. But, in fact, Jesus 
gave Himself altogether as ransom, and gives 
Himself altogether as the righteousness of 
His people, and their portion for ever. He 
is the Heir of all things, as we read, by His 
Father's appointment. 1 And, at the same 
time we know, ' As many as are led by the 
Spirit of God, they are the sons of God. For 
ye have not received the spirit of bondage 
again to fear ; but ye have received the Spirit 
of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father. 
The Spirit itself beareth witness with our 
spirit, that we are the children of God : and 
if children, then heirs, heirs of God, and joint- 
heirs with Christ.' 2 All we have to do is to 
stretch forth the hand of faith and accept the 
royal pardon, sealed with the king's seal and 
signed with the king's name ; and again, to 

1 Heb. i. 2. 2 Rom. viii. 14-16. 



186 EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 

stretch forth the hand and take the title deeds 
of acceptance with God and of our heavenly 
inheritance, which are sealed with the same 
seal and signed with the same name." 

" Oh ! grandfather," said Adolphe, " I 
think the parable helps me to see more 
clearly, than ever I did before, how it is a 
free pardon on God's part, although the full 
redemption price is paid. For in this cove- 
nant between the king and his son all the 
debts of Eugene were paid to the very last 
mite, and yet no subject had any thing to do 
with the royal grace which pardoned and 
enriched the debtor." 

"Quite so, Adolphe," answered Oberlin; 
" and in God's covenant of grace with man 
the freedom of divine mercy is yet more 
transparent ; for while the Father gives the 
Son and the Son gives Himself to be the 
propitiation for our sins, so infinite and won- 
derful is the unity of essence between the 
Persons of the ever Blessed Trinity, that 
Jesus says : — 'I and my Father are one ; ' 



EUGENE THE DEBTOR. 187 

and in this great act of redeeming love the 
Holy Spirit, who proceeds from the Father 
and the Son, anointed the Lamb of God for 
His great sacrifice. Salvation comes straight 
from the heart of God to the heart of man. 
Man has only to receive it, — I say only to 
receive it ; but when he has received it, then, 
like Eugene, his life, and not his lips alone, 
will prove his love. This great redemption 
will animate him for the great fight of faith, 
in which he will be more than conqueror, 
through Him that loved him, and will enjoy 
throughout eternity the glorious heritage 
promised to the victor. ; He that overcometh 
shall inherit all things, and I will be his 
Father, and he shall be my son.' " 



PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 




HERE was a 

wealthy Savoyard 
nobleman, named 
Gams, who was 
the owner of ex- 
tensive lands lying 
at the foot of the 
Maritime Alps, 
some thirty miles 
inland from the 
opulent and 
learned city of Nicea, the modern Nice. He 
was of Greek extraction, and was the father 
of two boys, who were sixteen and fourteen 
years of age. The name of the elder was 
Phaedrus, of the younger Philemon. 

The lot of that generation was cast in 
troublous times. There were wars and 



PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 189 

rumors of wars ; and Nicea, lying on the 
confines of France and Italy, had been more 
than once occupied by the conqueror, as the 
coveted prize of victory. Now, however, 
for three years there had been a lull in the 
storm. The city was in the hands of the 
Duke of Savoy. And Gains, who was a 
firm supporter of that royal house, and in- 
deed a personal friend of the reigning duke, 
thought it a favorable opportunity to send 
his two beloved sons to Nicea for the benefit 
of the discipline and education of that noble 
academy, for which it was celebrated all 
along the shores of the Mediterranean. 

It was not indeed without much solicitude 
that he determined on this course ; as, having 
taken an active part in the political and mili- 
tary conflicts of the times, Gaius knew that 
his character was bitterly assailed by a large 
party in Nicea. His enemies, among whom 
Antidicus was conspicuous for the rancor of 
his hatred, were many and unscrupulous. 
If restrained from open violence, he believed 



190 PHAEDBU3 AND PHILEMON. 

they would do every thing in their power 
to seduce his boys from their filial reverence 
and loyalty. Moreover, there were not a 
few facts in his past administration of the 
affairs of the city — for Gaius had more than 
once held the office of deputy-governor, and 
had put down more than one civil outbreak 
with equal justice and mercy — which he 
could not fully explain to youths of so tender 
an age as Phaedrus and Philemon. Indeed, 
all the reasons of his conduct were only fully 
known by the duke himself. Gaius could 
not doubt that these things would be thrown 
in the teeth of his children. 

On the other hand, he considered that a 
year's instruction would be of untold advan- 
tage to his sons, who, in his own retired 
castle, were almost shut out from intercourse 
with their comrades in age. He believed be 
could rely on their trustful allegiance : he 
knew that if he had many enemies he had 
also some faithful friends in Nicea, and 
especially one Philotheus, who had been 



PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 191 

brought up with him, and with whom, since 
he withdrew from the city, he kept up as 
constant a correspondence as the communica- 
tions of those days allowed. 

He called therefore his two sons, and ad- 
dressed them as follows : " My beloved chil- 
dren, in whom your sainted mother, Irene, 
lives ever before me, and in whose boyhood 
I live life over again, I have thought it well 
to make arrangements for sending you to 
the academy at Nicea. You will there 
mingle with many hundred youths of your 
own age : some you will find friendly to our 
house, others hostile. Be courteous to all. 
While heartily returning the affection of 
those who love us, try to win others to our 
side. Much of your comfort will depend 
upon the clique of companions among whom 
you are thrown. But whatever they may 
prove, be you simple and truthful. Com- 
municate freely with my friend and yours, 
Philotheus ; and write me without reserve, 
whenever messengers come our way. Some 



192 PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON". 

things you hear may perplex you. I will 
not fail to answer your inquiries, so far as it 
is profitable for you to know at present. 
But for the full knowledge of some things 
you must be content to wait till you are 
older. Let trust be your watchword. Fare- 
well." 

Now these two boys, you must note, 
though the children of the same parents, 
and brought up in the same home, were of 
very different dispositions. Phaedrus, the 
elder, was grave, thoughtful, inquisitive ; one 
who, from his very infancy, would always 
know a reason for every thing. " Why ? " 
" How ? " " What for ? 9V were words con- 
stantly on his lips. He never forgot what 
was told him, but nothing escaped his eye. 
Philemon, on the other hand, was joyous and 
confiding almost to a fault, if that be possible. 
His frank, generous nature, as it never feared 
fraud, seemed as if it could not harbor suspi- 
cions of another. If the texture of his mind 
had not been so pure and upright, this would 



PHAEDRTIS AND PHILEMON. 193 

have laid him open to the intrigues of de- 
signing men. But, as it was, his very sim- 
plicity seemed his safeguard. 

On their arrival in Nicea, the great master 
of the academy having examined the boys, 
assigned them different schools for their daily 
instruction, and different homes for their 
lodgment. This was a severe disappoint- 
ment to the brothers, who, though so diverse 
in character, were passionately attached to 
each other. Yet it seemed as if a merciful 
Providence had overruled their respective 
places of abode. 

Philemon — the young, confiding, impres- 
sionable Philemon — found himself in a school 
and home, where the larger number of the 
scholars and teachers and servants were well 
affected towards his father. The name of 
Gaius was seldom mentioned without honor. 
Sometimes indeed a slur was cast upon him ; 
but before Philemon could reply, so many 
willing lips would defend him, that the slan- 
derer was silenced and abashed. Philotheus 
13 



194 PHAEDEUS AND PHILEMON. 

was a frequent guest at the table of the 
officer in charge of the home ; and he would 
often dwell in glowing terms of praise on the 
services which Gaius had rendered to Nicea 
and to the house of Savoy. And often was 
Philemon congratulated on being the son of 
such a sire. Thus as the boy grew in knowl- 
edge, he saw more and more to admire in his 
honored father's character and conduct ; and, 
as his views expanded, he was increasingly 
struck with Gaius's firm and temperate ad- 
ministration when at the helm of the affairs 
of the city. His letters home naturally 
reflected all the delight which these things 
gave him, and those he received in return 
confirmed every conviction of his father's 
excellence. 

Far different was the lot of Phaedrus. 
Every one in his lodgment, and almost every 
one in his class, seemed to dislike or distrust 
his father. For a while, whether from 
respect for the feelings of their new compan- 
ion or from a deeper subtlety, they did not 



PHAEDRUS AND PIITLEMON. 195 

venture on open accusation. But when the 
name of Gaius was mentioned there would be 
an ominous silence, and stealthy looks would 
be exchanged between the scholars and their 
tutor. If any of the illustrious actions of 
Gaius were mentioned, there would be a 
faint ambiguous praise, which to the ears of 
Phaedrus was far worse than silence or down- 
right condemnation. And when some diffi- 
cult parts of his father's conduct of affairs 
was the topic of conversation, then suspicions 
would be freely thrown in, and sly innuen- 
does, or expressions of surprise and ill-sup- 
pressed ridicule, ending with an apparently 
honest appeal to the son for an explanation 
of things to him unknown. 

Phaedrus was deeply grieved. He used 
often to say to himself, " Let them suspect as 
they like, and suggest what they will, I know 
that my father is just and benevolent and 
good." Yet the hateful suspicions, which he 
almost seemed to breathe in the air of his 
present abode, would recur at his quietest 



196 PHAEDBUS AND PHILEMON. 

moments. If only his father had been at his 
side, he would not have minded. No doubt, 
he said to himself, his father would have re- 
solved every perplexity. The next best thing 
was to write to him ; and soon after this, hear- 
ing of a faithful messenger going and returning 
to his home, he wrote as fully as he could to his 
father of his difficulties, and prayed for an 
explanation of those acts which were chiefly 
maligned. But he was surprised to find how 
difficult it was to express in writing those 
harassing doubts, with which the enemies of 
Gaius plied him. When he would put them 
down in black and white, they seemed for 
the most part so cloudy and shapeless and 
impalpable, — it was like grasping a mist. 
However, he did his best : and, having con- 
fided his letter to the messenger, eagerly 
awaited a reply. 

The answer was most loving and comfort- 
ing. His father most tenderly sympathized 
with the mental sufferings of Phaedrus, and 
assured him that he valued the unshaken 



PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 197 

confidence of his son amid such temptations 
beyond all his other possessions. Also, in 
answer to his request, some further light was 
thrown on obscure passages of the past few 
years. But with regard to other events, 
Gaius reminded him of his parting words, 
" For the full knowledge of some things 
you must be content to w T ait." When, there- 
fore, his comrades, who knew that he had 
received despatches from home, demanded 
what Gaius might say in self-defence, Phae- 
drus could only answer on many points, " I 
must take that on trust, and am willing to 
do so." Their laughter pealed through the 
vestibule. 

Phaedrus and Philemon did not meet nearly 
so often as they would have desired, for their 
prescribed studies and games took up almost 
the entire day, and their dwelling-places lay 
apart. When they did meet it was generally 
in the presence of others ; and even when 
they two were alone, Phaedrus felt a strange 
shyness from disclosing all his troubles and 



198 PHAEDRUS AXD PHILEMOK. 

distress to Philemon. The brothers lived in 
different mental worlds. 

One beautiful summer evening, however, 
having both obtained leave of absence from 
the officers in charge, they met alone in the 
cemetery which is situate on the hill overhang- 
ing Nicea. The eyes of both lads were at- 
tracted by the words inscribed over the portal, 
" Hodie mihi, eras tibi," l and the solemn 
thought of another world, that world in which 
their beloved mother was awaiting them, 
drew out their hearts in all fraternal sym- 
pathies. And then Phaedrus told Philemon 
far more than he had ever done before of 
his inmost thoughts and struggles and endur- 
ances. Into much Philemon heartily entered, 
and repaid confidence with confidence. But 
as to any attacks upon their father troubling 
his peace of mind, he smiled at the idea of it. 
Suspicions rested on his heart like rain-drops 
on a cabbage-leaf ; they did not penetrate a 
hair's-breadth. And Phaedrus soon forbore ; 

1 " My lot to-day will be thine to-morrow." 



PHAEDEUS AND PHILEMON. 199 

he envied his brother's sunny faith ; he in- 
wardly accused himself of base unbelief, and 
almost experienced what a modern poet has 
described — 

"Yes, deep within, and deeper yet, 

The rankling shaft of conscience hide ; 
Quick let the swelling eye forget 

The tears that in the heart abide. 
Calm be the voice, the aspect bold, 

No shuddering pass o'er lip or brow; 
For why should innocence be told 

The pangs that guilty spirit bow 1 
The loving eye that watches thine 

Close as the air that wraps thee round, 
Why in thy sorrow should it pine, 

Since never of thy sin it found ? " 

However, they turned to other subjects, 
and then bent their footsteps to their sainted 
mother's tomb (she died at Xicea), and there, 
Philemon resting on Phaecirus, they stood 
silently and long: and as they returned to 
the city spoke only of their father's home on 
earth as a type of the one everlasting home 
in glory. 

About a month after this Phaedrus had an 



200 PHAEDKTJS AND PHILEMON. 

opportunity of a quiet hour alone with Philo- 
theus in his studio ; and, remembering his 
father's injunctions, he told him, though not 
without a great effort, of his present griefs. 
Here, indeed, he found " an understanding 
friend." A single word was sufficient clue 
for Philotheus. He entered into every diffi- 
culty, as one who had himself struggled with 
the very same. He did not, it is true, explain 
all remaining obscurities. But his love and 
intense reverence for Gaius were so trans- 
parent, that Phaedrus felt all his own filial 
affection and esteem quickened and strength- 
ened. And then Philotheus calmly showed 
how many things once dark were already 
clear, and advanced such cogent reasons why 
a veil might be drawn over other things for a 
while, that Phaedrus left his studio whisper- 
ing to himself, " What a fool I was ever to 
let the accusations of foes disturb my peace 
for a moment ! " 

It must not, however, be supposed that 
his perplexities were ended from this hour. 



PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 201 

They seemed to multiply as weeks rolled on. 
Altogether, different points in his father's 
administration were assailed, now covertly, 
now openly. And though he neither yielded 
to the insinuation nor the invective, — for, 
ever since his conversation with Philotheus, 
he had gained a vantage-ground which he 
never wholly lost, — it grieved him sorely 
that the name of his noble father should be 
thus traduced, and grieved him yet more 
that he could not clear it from every cloud. 
And now he began to be subjected to a thou- 
sand petty annoyances from his comrades. 
When the master's eye was off him, he would 
be vexatiously interrupted in his studies. 
His partnership would be declined in games, 
so that he was not seldom left to his own 
meditations. His rest would be wantonly 
disturbed at night, and he found it difficult 
to secure a quiet half hour, day by day, for 
devotion. 

Haply his spirit would have sunk if it had 
not been for a young man of the name of 



202 PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 

Ctesiphon, who, observing the ungenerous 
treatment to which Phaedrus was exposed, 
and his self-restrained and courteous de- 
portment under all, began to conceive a 
strong affection for him. Though Ctesiphon 
had not the courage to declare himself 
as the ally of Phaedrus, yet he watched 
opportunities for intercourse with him, 
quietly frustrated many plots levelled against 
him, and befriended him secretly in a thou- 
sand ways. And truly Phaedrus had need 
of help. 

One dajr things came to a crisis. It was 
a festival in the academy, and historic recita- 
tions were to take place before the chief men 
of that city. Antidicus, the bitterest enemy 
of Gaius, was present. And when one of 
the students had finished an oration on some 
of the last pages of the history of Nicea, 
Antidicus arose, and having thanked the 
young man for his glowing eulogium on their 
native city, he proceeded to represent the 
conduct of Gaius in the most sinister aspect ; 



PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 203 

he impugned his motives, he questioned his 
capacities, he accused him of serving him- 
self, and not Nicea ; and, finally, averred that 
the blood of many citizens lay at his door. 
Phaedrus could hardly restrain his indig- 
nation ; his heart was hot and his cheeks 
burned ; when suddenly Antidicus turned 
to him, saying, just as if he had been una- 
ware of his presence before : " Ah ! I see 
the son of Gaius is here. I rejoice that he 
is present, for doubtless he will explain, if 
any explanation be conceivable, the appar- 
ently crooked and disastrous government of 
Iris father." 

Phaedrus arose, and as he rose the blood 
forsook his face ; but, standing with his back 
to a pillar, he answered before all : ; * I do 
not know Antidicus, save by report as a bit- 
ter and unscrupulous enemy of our house. 
I do know my father as good, and wise, and 
just. Shall I let my ignorance master my 
knowledge ? Is such the teaching of this 
learned academv ? Far, far from it. With 



204 PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 

regard to the charges he now brings against 
my honored sire, many, as he knows, as you 
all know, have been answered again and 
again. For the refutation of the rest time 
only is needful. Truth is never afraid to 
wait." 

Antidicus grew livid with rage, As the 
last sentence fell from the lips of Phaedrus, 
he muttered between his clenched teeth, 
" Does that beardless youth accuse me of 
falsehood? " At these words the hall became 
a scene of wild confusion. Phaedrus was 
seized and thrown on the marble pavement, 
and his gown rent from his shoulders, and 
many and grievous blows showered upon 
him. It is impossible to say where this 
would have stayed, had not Ctesiphon parried 
many of the thrusts, and Philotheus, coming 
in that instant, cast himself between the 
prostrate and bleeding youth and his assail- 
ants, and reproached them in indignant terms 
for the cowardly assault of many upon one, 
and that one only doing that which they 



PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 205 

ought the rather to honor him for ; namely, 
defending the reputation of a beloved and 
absent father. 

The words of Philotheus recalled the 
young men to some sense of shame, and 
Phaedrus was allowed to retire, leaning on 
the arm of Ctesiphon; and when he had 
washed off some of the traces of the mal- 
treatment he had endured, he made his way 
to the lodgement of his brother, who hap- 
pened to be laid up w r ith sickness that day, 
or he might have been exposed to the same 
insults in the common hall. As Philemon 
listened to the story of Phaedrus, and saw 
the wounds and bruises he had suffered for 
their father's sake, his heart was knit closer 
than ever to his brother. 

From this day direct persecution became 
less and less. Many of his comrades in age 
were abashed by his courage and constancy, 
and a little band of four or five gathered 
round him. But yet the whole tone and 
spirit of the house remained unconquerably 



206 PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 

hostile to Gaius and his son. Time would 
fail me to tell of all the trials he endured, 
though they were now cheered by the com- 
panionship of his new associates, the occa- 
sional sight of his beloved brother, the steady 
friendship of Philotheus, and not unfrequent 
letters from his dear and honored father. 

But now the year's probation was drawing 
to its close. Summer had long since given 
place to autumn, and the beautiful autumn 
sunsets had faded away, and the wintry 
frosts, though always tempered on that 
delightful coast, were yielding to the love 
of the early spring, when one day, as Phae- 
drus and Philemon were walking arm-in-arm 
through the cloisters of the academy, the 
well-known figure of Mnason, the old and 
faithful seneschal of their father's castle, was 
seen entering the portico. The young men 
ran to meet him, with the question of Joseph 
on their lips : " Is our father well ? " Mnason, 
respectfully saluting them, answered, " He 
is well," and at the same time presented them 



PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 207 

with a letter sealed with the familiar signet. 
The letter was very brief : — 

" My beloved sons, the courses of study, 
which I had it in my heart for you both to 
pursue, will come to a close on the evening 
of the day upon which you receive this mes- 
sage. I wish you to rise early on the morrow 
morning, and return home with Mnason in 
the chariot which I have sent for you. I 
have had constant reports of your fidelity 
and diligence. A heartv welcome awaits 
you from your longing father, Gaius." 

To bound up his own height into the air 
for joy was the instinctive action of Phile- 
mon, while Phaedrus heaved a sob of thank- 
fulness from his inmost bosom, which seemed 
to roll off the burden of a year's anxieties 
and toil. However, they both grasped old 
Mnason's hands, and assured him they would 
be ready by daybreak. And then they has- 
tened to bid adieu to Philotheus and their 



208 PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 

teachers and comrades. The parting was 
very tender between Ctesiphon and Phae- 
drus. Nor did they relax their embrace, 
until Ctesiphon had promised to visit the 
castle of Gams, and learn to know the vener- 
able man of whom he had heard so much. 

The morning was without clouds. The 
orange groves and olive trees were dressed 
in the first verdure of spring. The larks 
sang a ceaseless matin song. And when the 
travellers glanced behind them, the Mediter- 
ranean stretched far away with its countless 
distances of blue, like an image of the eternal 
past. But before them was home, blessed 
home. Occasionally, indeed, a flush of anx- 
iety might be detected on the countenance 
of Phaedrus, as he thought of the suspicions 
which he had allowed, even for an hour, to 
trouble his faith. But then the words of the 
letter which Mnason had brought, and of 
many previous messages from his father, 
recurred to his mind, and reassured him. 

The horses, however, were fleet, and the 



PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 209 

road was good ; and as they surmounted 
the ridge of a wooded declivity, they saw 
the loved turrets of their castle home. Rapid 
as the chariot horses were, the young men's 
desires outstripped them, till, as they drew 
near the outermost watch-tower on their 
ancestral estate, they saw the reverend form 
of Gaius coming towards them, and caught 
the gleaming of his silvery hair in the sun- 
light, and recognized his beckoning hand of 
welcome. The chariot stopped a few paces 
from him, and the young men, springing out 
on either side, fell upon their aged father's 
neck and kissed him. 

I must not linger to tell of all the joys of 
that happy day. This much I may say, that 
a few hours after they had arrived at home, 
and while Philemon was already wandering 
with inexpressible delight over the haunts of 
his boyhood, Gaius called his elder son into 
his own favorite turret chamber, and with- 
out one word or whisper of reproach for any 
passing doubt or fear, which might have 
14 



210 PHAEDBTJS AND PHILEMON. 

clouded for a little while poor Phaedrus's 
peace during the past year, thanked him 
with all a father's tenderness and thought- 
fulness for his persistent trust and loyalty 
and love. Nor was this all ; for Gaius told 
him that he was now experienced enough 
to hear the secret reasons which had actuated 
his government of Nicea, when it seemed 
most open to censure. That very day many 
mysteries were cleared up, and Phaedrus was 
overjoyed to find how those things which 
looked darkest and most inexplicable were 
always the result of the ripest wisdom and 
far-seeing benevolence. Love to Nicea had 
been the master-key to all the conduct of 
Gaius, so that now his son began to rejoice 
in any mysteries that remained ; for he knew 
that when unfolded they would only the 
more illustrate his father's providence and 
goodness. In a few weeks nothing was 
unsolved ; so that one day, as Philemon was 
returning from the forest, Phaedrus, coming 
from the presence of his father, met him with 



PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 211 

the joyous exclamation, " O my brother, the 
darker the mystery the deeper the love." 

" f\ GRANDFATHER ! " said Aimee, as 
Oberlin laid down his paper and his 
spectacles, " I must add those last words, 
4 The darker the mystery the deeper the love,' 
to my book of golden sayings" 

(For you must know that each of the 
children, by Oberlin's special request, kept 
a manuscript book, in which they were ac- 
customed to write down any good proverb 
or short pithy sentence which struck them 
in their lessons or at meal-time, when their 
grandfather w^ould often read the daily jour- 
nals aloud, or in their visits with him to the 
cottages of the poor. These books were 
labelled " Golden Sayings," and were read 
out from time to time in the happy family 
circle, affording bright subjects for table- 
talk.) 

" Is it an old proverb, dear grandfather ? " 



212 PHAEDHUS AND PHILEMON. 

continued Aiin6e, " or (looking archly at 
him) did you make it ? " 

" Well, my child," answered Oberlin, " I 
think the warp of it is as old as the Psal- 
mist's words, ' Thy way is in the sea, and 
Thy path in the great waters, and Thy foot- 
steps are not known,' 1 for God is love, and 
He works all things after the counsel of 
His own will ; and yet how many things 
look very dark for a while which afterwards 
break into the brightest sunshine ! We have 
very often now to trust Him when we cannot 
trace Him, and some things eternity only will 
explain. But if the warp of the saying you 
so like, Aimee, is as old as the Bible, perhaps 
our parable supplied the woof. Let us look 
at it a little more closely. You must not 
attempt to press every part of it into service, 
but its main features, I think, are plain." 

" Of course," said Adolphe, " Phaedrus 
and Philemon represent different Christians, 
some of whom are sorely tried by tempta- 

1 Psalm lxxvii. 19. 



PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 213 

(ion, while others seem to know but little 
of it." 

" And then, no doubt," said Gustave, 
11 this life is the school, where Christ's dis- 
ciples learn their hard lessons and buffet 
their way." 

" And the world, I suppose," chimed in 
little Roschen, " answers to the great college 
at Nicea, where poor Phaedrus suffered so 
much." 

" Then, of course," exclaimed Gustave, 
" Antidicus, the bitter enemy of Gaius, sig- 
nifies the devil, — " 

" And ? — " said Oberlin, inquiringly. 

There was a pause. 

" And," continued Oberlin, " his servants 
and followers and agents. The devil does 
not approach us openly, as he did our Master 
in His great temptation, but he does stir up 
wicked men to tempt us, and plies his arts in 
a thousand covert ways." 

" And then," said Aimee, hesitatingly, "I 
suppose, in the same sense, Philotheus repre- 



214 PHAEDKUS AND PHILEMON. 

sents all those good men, pastors and teachers 
and ministers, whom the Holy Spirit teaches, 
that they may teach us the things of God." 

" Quite so, my child," replied Oberlin ; 
"but what should you say was the main 
drift of my parable ? " 

After a little, Adolphe answered, " Would 
not the words of your text this morning, 
grandfather, express it better than any other, 
4 What I do thou knowest not now, but thou 
shalt know hereafter ' ? Though you dwelt 
so much on the story of Jesus washing His 
disciples' feet, and the lesson of lowly love 
to one another we are to learn from it, some- 
how I could not help connecting j r our text 
with the parable all the time you have been 
reading to us this evening." 

Oberlin looked upon his grandson with 
beaming delight, and said, " You have indeed 
caught the spirit of my parable, Adolphe, 
As Gaius thought it good for his sons to go 
to the great academy at Nicea, though he 
well knew they would have to study dili- 



PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 215 

gently there, and would have to bear their 
daily cross, and be exposed to many hard- 
ships and snares and temptations, so our God 
and Father, who is training us for our heav- 
enly home, though He knows we must learn 
many difficult lessons, and be exposed to 
many dangers, and often suffer much in 
enduring temptation, yet assigns us each one 
our lot in this present evil world, saying to 
us, ; All that will live godly in Christ Jesus 
shall suffer persecution ; ' 1 but at the same 
time putting that rich promise into our hands, 
6 Blessed is the man that endureth tempta- 
tion ; for, when he is tried, he shall receive 
the crown of life, which the Lord hath prom- 
ised to them that love Him.' " 2 

" And yet, sir," said old Robin, " if I may 
make so bold as to speak, some men, and 
good men too, seem to go through life with 
very little trial or persecution. They are 
strong and hearty. No trouble comes nigh 
their dwellings. They live to a good old 

1 2 Tim. iii. 12. ■ James i. 12. 



216 PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 

age, and die in peace. Do they miss that 
blessing yon speak of?" 

"Well, Robin," said Oberlin, "I do not 
for a moment deny that some soldiers are 
called to far harder warfare, and will receive 
a brighter crown. One star will differ from 
another star in glory. Bnt then we mnst 
remember, ' the heart knoweth its own bitter- 
ness,' and I have talked with many a one whose 
ontward path seemed all that heart could 
wish, and found there was a secret trouble, 
sometimes a heart-trouble, sometimes a home- 
trouble, that the world knew not of; and I 
have gone from his house repeating to myself 
the words of our hymn, — 

" There are briars besetting every path 
That call for patient care ; 
There is a cross in every lot, 

And an earnest need for prayer ; 
But a lowly heart that leans on Thee 
** happy anywhere." 

"I've seen that, too, sir," said Marie. 
"But to put it in another way, was that 
young, trustful lad's a less honorable course 



PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 217 

than his elder brother's ? My old heart quite 
went out towards that bright, joyous spirit." 

" Perhaps," replied Oberlin, " we should 
not do quite wisely to compare one with 
another as to degrees of honor or happiness. 
God does not make all alike, and does not 
mean all to run the same course. Both Phae- 
drus and Philemon were faithful, though one 
suffered far more than the other, and there- 
fore was the more qualified to enter into the 
reasons of his father's conduct. But ' the 
eye cannot say to the hand, I have no need of 
thee, nor again the head to the feet, I have 
no need of you.' 1 And we shall never know 
till glory who shall be first, and who last, 
among the disciples of the great Master. 
May God only grant us to be humble, dili- 
gent, trustful, hopeful scholars in the great 
school of life ! He is testing us every hour." 

" If life's lesson-books were actually put 
into our hands, grandfather," said Gustave, 
"like our Latin grammar and Virgil, and we 

1 1 Cor. xii. 21. 



218 PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 

were told that we had to master them in a 
given time, say in six or twelve months, and 
then be examined in them, it would seem so 
much easier. But it is so hard to feel you 
are at school all day and every day, especially 
when j^ou cannot in the least tell when you 
may have to give an account how you have 
worked. Why, it may be fifty years or more 
before we are asked what we have done with 
our life." 

" This is your old difficulty," said Oberlin, 
tenderly. " It is, I know, hard to walk by 
faith and not by sight. But this is God's 
discipline for us. There seem to me three 
great departments of that education which 
He assigns His children, — study, work, and 
trial. Often His scholars are passing through 
all at once. But with you, my children, the 
chief part of every day's duty now consists 
in study, the patient acquisition of knowledge, 
both earthly and heavenly knowledge. New 
I know full well the lessons must sometimes 
seem hard and irksome. You have to take 



PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 219 

much on trust. But you will find the wis- 
dom you are storing up now will stand you 
in good stead in after days. Then, as life 
goes on, most of your time will probably be 
taken up with work. You boys will have to 
earn your bread in some honest calling, and 
you girls will have plenty of happy home- 
work every day. Yet we might soon perplex 
ourselves with asking why is it needful for a 
member of Christ, a child of God, and an 
inheritor of the kingdom of heaven, to be en- 
gaged often from morning till night in toil of 
body or brain. If tempted to ask this, let us 
remember God is trying us by these things 
of what mind and metal we are, — and those 
who are faithful in the least will be found 
faithful in much. And then along with study 
and work is mingled trial more or less all 
through life. We all in turn learn to suffer 
here." 

Roschen colored up, and said, " I hardly 
know what suffering means, grandfather ; 
except when I had that terrible toothache." 



220 PHAEDRTTS AND PHILEMON. 

"And my little Roschen was then brave 
and patient," replied Oberlin, laying his hand 
on her head, " and gave good promise of 
being able to bear greater things for Jesus 
one day." 

" Phaedrus's chief trouble," said Aimee, 
" seemed to be in resisting the cruel calum- 
nies cast upon his father. But, since our 
Father is God, we cannot for a moment 
doubt that all He has done or is doing 
must be best." 

An involuntary, low-breathed sigh that 
came from the heart of Adolphe told Oberlin 
that his parable had touched the secret trouble 
of one of his grandchildren. But he only re- 
plied, looking steadily round on all, " Yes, 
my children, we know that ' God is light, 
and in Him is no darkness at all.' 1 But it 
is also true, ' Clouds and darkness are round 
about Him,' and that He ' hath His way in the 
whirlwind and storm.' 2 And struggling faith 
often has to answer with Phaedrus, ' I know 

1 1 John i. 5. 2 Psalm xcvii. 2 ; Nahum i. 3. 



PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 221 

that my Father is good ; I will never let my 
ignorance master my knowledge ; for the 
explanation of many things I will wait, and 
am content to wait.' 5 ' 

Adolphe was glad to turn the subject then, 
though he fully resolved that he would pur- 
sue it some day when alone with his grand- 
father, and said, " And then, I suppose, we 
must number among the trials of life's school 
our being tempted by the devil to do what 
we know to be wrong, and leave undone 
what we know to be right ? " 

" And how did our Master meet such 
trials ? " asked Oberlin, looking towards 
Marie and Robin. 

" Why, sir. He met every temptation of 
the devil, as you showed us not long since," 
said Marie, "by the sword of the Spirit, say- 
ing, ; It is written/ and ; It is written again.' 
Ever since you preached that sermon, I've 
looked to my Bible for some sharp word to 
say to the tempter." 

••And then," said Robin, "as to shghting 



222 PHAEDBUS AND PHILEMON. 

duty, He answered, ' I must work the works 
of Him that sent me, while it is day ; the 
night cometh when no man can work.' 1 O, 
how often have those words nerved my tired 
arm and strengthened my failing knees !" 

u Can you think of any other trials of our 
faith ? " asked Oberlin. 

" Oh, yes, grandfather," replied Aimee. 
" You mean the loss of those we love. How 
often you have taught us to plead the prom- 
ises made to fatherless and motherless chil- 
dren ! You have been more to us than we 
can ever tell, dear grandfather. But oh, I 
do long to see my mother again." And the 
loving girl's eyes filled with tears. 

" Yes, my children," said Oberlin, " we are 
driven back and back to our text, ' What I 
do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt 
know hereafter.' We learn to spell out some 
of the reasons why God chastens us, — for in 
so chastening us He dealeth with us as with 
sons. But when the glad summons is sent 

1 John ix. 4. 



PHAEDRUS AND PHILEMON. 223 

to come into His presence, when we see 
Him face to face, and dwell with Him at 
home, then shall that which is dark now be 
lighted up with the sunshine of His smile, 
and we shall joyfully confess He has led us 
by a right path to the many mansions of His 
love.*' 




UNA THE BRIDE. 



%Sf|MR 



*WM™ 




JAR off toward the 
golden sunrising, 
on the outskirts of 
the mighty empire 
of the king of 
kings, as Hamme- 
lech, not without 
reason, was usually 
styled, — for three- 
score and ten trib- 
utary thrones were 
wont to do him homage and held their sceptres 
at his pleasure, — was situate the small but 
most beautiful principality of Eden. It was a 
secluded vallej^, reaching only some thirty 
miles in length by ten in breadth, shut in by 
lofty snow-capped mountains on every side, 




UNA THE BRIDE. 225 

from whence a thousand rivulets descended, 
and swelled the crystal river which flowed 
through its midst and found vent through the 
one rocky defile which gave access to the great 
world without. No tongue can describe the 
verdure of its pastures, the luxuriance of its 
flowers and fruits, the enchanting labyrinths 
of its forests and glens, nor the glory of those 
sunset hues that lingered on the peaks of 
virgin snow. Some say it was called Eden 
from its supposed likeness to the sinless para- 
dise of our first parents ; while others were 
bold enough to affirm, that this was with- 
out doubt that garden of delight in which 
God first walked with man. 

Near the centre of the valley there was a 
tranquil lake of silver water, the banks of 
which were festooned with innumerable roses ; 
and hard beside the lake, on a wooded cliff, 
arose the roj^al palace of the princes of Eden, 
who for many generations had reigned over 
the happy habitants of this vale. But, some 
fourteen years before my story begins, there 

15 



226 UNA THE BKIDE. 

had been gloom and mourning in the marble 
palace of Eden. Azrael, the angel of death, 
wrapped in the robe of that pestilence which 
walketh in darkness, had in one night borne 
away the queen-mother and her infant son, 
over whose birth there had been universal 
rejoicing but three days before. The king 
mastered his crushing sorrow before the eyes 
of his household ; but the deep, deep wound 
bled inwardly, and in less than six months he 
was laid to rest beside his wife and babe. 

And now the only heiress to this delight- 
some principality was the orphan Una, at 
that time a lovely innocent infant of four 
years old. All the hopes of Eden clustered 
around her. Dorcas and Deborah, widowed 
matrons of the highest rank, were appointed 
nurses of the royal child ; and Perpetua and 
Felicitas, the twin children of Deborah, were 
ordered to be her playmates. Faithful 
soldiers guarded the palace gates and walls. 
And as she grew in years wise preceptors 
instructed her. Meanwhile, a reverend 



TJX A THE BRIDE. 227 

senate, consisting of four and twenty of the 
oldest and most trusted counsellors of her 
father, administered the affairs of the princi- 
pality. Nor did Una disappoint the pains 
bestowed upon her, nor the fond hopes which 
her people cherished of her unfolding j~outh. 
Many anecdotes of her unselfish love, and 
many proofs of her ripening wisdom, were 
eagerly told from lip to lip, and were chroni- 
cled in the hearts of her future subjects. But 
it was whispered that she inherited the lofty 
spirit of her father, and his almost inflexible 
will. She did not seem to know the meaning 
of fear. From the age of ten years and up- 
wards her delight was in threading the mazes 
of the forests, or climbing the rocky peaks to 
catch the rosy tints of the rising or the setting 
sun. In these rambles Felicitas was her 
chosen companion, and often did the woods 
echo to their innocent laughter. But not 
seldom, as she grew older, she entirely 
refused companionship, and would wander 
on in quiet thought, or bound like one of her 



228 UNA THE BRIDE. 

own gazelles over the heather. And then it 
was her delight to visit alone the cottage of 
the fatherless and the widow, and to cany 
with her own hands the most delicious fruits 
of her palace gardens, melons or pomegran- 
ates or clustering grapes, to the bedside of 
the sick and suffering poor. It was in vain 
to argue with her; there was a calm self- 
possession which was a law unto itself. 

For a long while, nothing of moment hap- 
pened to break the quiet of the dwellers in 
the secluded valley of Eden. But shortly 
after the sixteenth birthday of Una had been 
celebrated with joyous festivities in every 
home, tidings were brought that Adonais, 
the only son of Hammelech, the mighty 
emperor of the east, of whose dominions 
Eden formed but the smallest fragment, had 
gained victory after victory in a terrible Avar 
with Alp Arslan, the rebel chieftain of a 
province lying far to the north of their val- 
ley. It was told how he had been severely 
wounded, but recovered, and rumor said 



UNA THE BRIDE. 229 

that now, by his father's pleasure, Adonais 
had laid aside his military and royal state, 
and, disguised as a wayfaring man, was mak- 
ing a tour of inspection through the remoter 
parts of his vast empire. Many were the 
stories told of the unexpected visits he paid 
to the lowly shed of the peasant as well as 
to the mansions of .the rich and noble. 

Now some averred that Adonais had been 
seen to pass early one morning in the dusky 
twilight through the defile which guarded 
the entrance of the valley of Eden. But if 
it were so, he preserved his incognito most 
strictly the whole time of his sojourn there, 
for after the glimpses of that early dawn 
none of the inhabitants saw him again ; and 
when some months had elapsed, certain in- 
formation was brought that Adonais had 
returned to his father's court, and it was 
commonly reported that the emperor was 
designing an illustrious marriage for his 
beloved and only son. 

Meanwhile, in Eden Una grew in graceful- 



230 UNA THE BRIDE. 

ness and graciousness. And not a few of 
the neighboring princes had preferred their 
suit for her hand to the counsellors of the 
little kingdom. She was as simple as a 
child ; but whenever the subject was named 
to her she would listen with a courteous but 
apparently incredulous smile, and answer, 
she valued greatly the friendship of all her 
royal neighbors and allies, and plighted them 
her friendship in return, but with that they 
must be content. It was in vain to persuade 
her : you might as soon have moved the 
rock on which her palace was built. 

Two years more had passed away, and 
Una was now the ripened maiden of eighteen 
summers, at which age, by the laws of Eden, 
the crown was placed upon her fair young 
brow, and she was proclaimed the sovereign 
of the principality of her father. On the 
evening of her coronation day tidings were 
brought to her, that a small but select em- 
bassy was on its way from the imperial court. 
Embassies were no unfrequent events, as 



UNA THE BRIDE. 231 

Hammelech was wont by them to keep up 
constant communications with the tributary 
kingdoms of his empire. But there was 
something about this embassy which, on its 
arrival at the capital of Eden, threw its 
inhabitants into anxious thoughts and many 
whispered deliberations. It consisted, not, 
as usual, of three counsellors, but of only 
one grave and thoughtful ambassador, whose 
name was Evangelist, a man who w r as known 
to have the emperor's ear as much as any 
member of his privy council; and he was 
accompanied by his wife Evangeline, in 
whose veins ran some of the noblest blood 
of the empire. Evangelist's only personal 
attendant was a venerable white-haired ser- 
vant, whose name was Fid us ; while in the 
train of Evangeline were three high-born 
maidens, Grace, Ancora, and Ruth. A com- 
modious mansion near the palace gates was 
assigned them for their residence ; and as 
Evangelist said his message was for the vir- 
gin queen's ear alone, Una signified her 



232 TJKA THE BEIDE. 

pleasure to give him audience on the mor- 
row in the innermost court of her royal 
dwelling. 

So on the morrow Evangelist and his little 
suite came to the palace ; and when they 
were ushered in, Una, directing the others 
to remain just within the portal of the hall 
of audience, seated herself in a retired alcove, 
and beckoning Evangelist to approach, said 
that she was ready to hear the wishes of the 
emperor. 

And upon this Evangelist began to plead 
the weighty suit entrusted to him. He told 
how the prince Adonais two years before had 
seen Una, when she had not the least suspi- 
cion that his eyes were upon her ; how he 
had watched her gentle kindness to an orphan 
child who, but for her, must have perished 
with sickness and hunger ; how he had 
traced her tender ministries, and heard her 
low-breathed songs as she sweetly soothed 
the broken slumbers of fever; and, further, 
how he had himself gleaned information 



UNA THE BRIDE. 233 

regarding her from a thousand sources, and 
found that she was indeed one whom he 
could trust to share the administration of 
his mighty dominions. In a word, he offered 
her his heart and hand, and pleaded earnestly 
that she would consent to be his affianced 
bride. 

Una listened with respectful deference to 
every word which fell from the lips of Evan- 
gelist, and after a short pause replied with 
all the courteous dignity of her race, that 
she was fully sensible of the high honor 
which Adonais, the son of Hammelech, the 
king of kings, designed for her ; but that she 
was utterly unworthy of such distinguished 
favor, and utterly unfitted for such an exalted 
throne ; and although she would take due 
time to consider her answer, she did not 
for a moment think that any alliance, how- 
ever magnificent, would persuade her to 
leave the quiet seclusion of the palace of her 
fathers. 

Evangelist thanked her for giving audience 



234 UXA THE BRIDE. 

thus far to his petition, and earnestly begged" 
that he might be allowed ere long to renew 
his intercession on his lord's behalf, and urge 
marij pleas which Adonais had commissioned 
him to employ. To this Una could not but 
consent, though it was with evident reluc- 
tance. And now, as glad to throw off an 
irksome subject, she invited Evangeline and 
her maidens in waiting to approach, and 
showed them some of the rarities of her 
palace home, and especially the almost match- 
less prospects which it commanded of the 
snow-clad mountains. For more than an 
hour they wandered through the costly apart- 
ments or gazed from the rose-twined bal- 
conies, and as they lingered, Evangeline, in 
the most simple, artless way, dropped many 
a word which seconded her husband's suit, 
saying how Adonais had often spoken to her 
in warmest admiration of these same beau- 
tiful views. Una said nothing in reply, but 
secretly marvelled when and where he had 
seen them. 



UNA THE BRIDE. 235 

However^ after two clays she sent again 
for Evangelist and his company, and told 
liiin that she had riven his suit the most anx- 
ious deliberation ; but that, haying weighed 
it in the scales of a life-long choice, she had 
come to the conclusion that she must decline 
the imperial glory. 

In the first place, she said, she could not 
bear to leave the scenes of her childhood. 
She knew every nook of the valley and al- 
most every tree of the forests, every haunt 
of beauty and of grandeur, and every home 
of her beloved people. Then she confessed 
that she shrank from the majesty of Adonais. 
"I," she said, " compared with your noble 
prince, am a simple maiden, — the heiress of 
one of his most insignificant provinces ; and 
he is the son of the king of kings. But in 
truth I prefer my lowliness to his magnifi- 
cence." Nor did she conceal her dread of 
one who had been engaged in such mighty 
wars, and had passed through such scenes of 
bloodshed and alarm. And then, reserving 



236 UNA THE BKIDE. 

the reason which perhaps weighed most with 
her for the last, she affirmed that she was 
unwilling to surrender her freedom, her heart 
and person, to another. She knew not that 
she should ever bestow her hand upon any 
suitor, certainly not for long years to come. 
She was my lady Will-be-will, and such it 
was her pleasure to remain. 

Una added that she had consulted with 
two or three of her father's counsellors ; and 
though they were taken with the glory of 
the proposed alliance, and felt their minds 
waver as to the advice they should tender 
her, they all agreed that it was a matter in 
which their royal princess must commune 
with her own heart and decide accordingly. 
She did not reveal that one of them had 
spoken disparagingly of Adonais, and avowed 
his conviction that her gentle love would be 
unsuitably matched with his fame for military 
exploits. But she said smilingly, though 
with something of a plaintive sadness in the 
tone of her voice, " Tell your noble prince 



UNA THE BEIDE. 237 

how I thank him for his courtesy and tender 
thoughts of me : but let him seek some con- 
sort more fitted than his humble handmaiden 
to share the splendors of his imperial throne. 
For in sooth I can never be his bride." 

Then Evangelist drew nearer ; and by 
Una's permission Evangeline and her maid- 
ens disposed themselves near the footstool of 
the throne on which she reclined, whilst the 
ambassador pleaded his master's cause once 
more with wonderful skill, turning every 
objection she had made into a new persua- 
sive argument for her compliance. 

He began by reminding her that all her 
ancestral estates were really part of the 
dominion of the emperor; so that, although 
they were hers to inherit and enjoy, the 
suzerainty over them belonged to Hammelech 
and his house by an earlier and indefeasible 
right. He admitted the exquisite loveliness 
of her Eden ; but he went on to describe the 
surpassing glories of Shushan, the palace, and 
of the imperial city, in such truthful and 



238 UNA THE BRIDE. 

wonderful words, that the ear of Una was 
won, and she listened with inquisitive interest. 
Here Evangeline confirmed and enriched the 
description which her husband gave of the 
metropolis ; and Ancora, one of her maidens, 
ventured to express a desire that the princess 
could only see it with her own eyes. 

Furthermore, Evangelist urged that Una 
would not, by becoming the bride of the heir 
to the imperial throne, cease to be the 
crowned sovereign of her own peculiar prin- 
cipality. She would not lose her Eden by 
sharing the throne of Adonais in Shushan. 
Nay, doubtless the prince would often de- 
light to return and wander with her over 
the haunts she so ardently loved. Only (and 
Evangelist again dwelt on the splendors of 
the imperial court) all these likewise would 
be hers, for it was in his commission to de- 
clare that all wherewith Hammelech endowed 
Adonais, with that would Adonais endow his 
chosen bride. 

" Let the wealth of your noble prince be 



UNA THE BRIDE. 239 

as boundless as the universe," exclaimed 
Una, interrupting him; " the human heart 
was not made to love possessions, but a 
person. And I know not your Adonais, sav- 
ing I have heard of him as a mighty con- 
queror. Magnificence would never attract 
me; so let us speak no more of it." 

But just as if this reply had given him an 
opening to dwell on another aspect of the 
character of his beloved prince, Evangelist 
proceeded to give proof after proof of the 
tenderness and grace of Adonais. Evangeline 
threw in her glowing testimony, and appealed 
to Ruth to verify her statements, who told 
how she had seen him with his own hand 
ministering to his sick and wounded soldiers, 
and himself relieving the wants of the pris- 
oner and captive. "It is true," continued 
the ambassador, "that Adonais has made 
mighty wars like David, but in his inmost 
heart he is a man of peace, like Solomon. 
Indeed, he only fought that his subjects 
might live every man under his own vine and 



240 UNA THE BRIDE. 

fig-tree, none making them afraid. Had he 
not fought, illustrious Una, your beautiful 
valley would have been desolated with fire 
and sword, and, haply, chains hung around 
your tender limbs. It was your enemy he 
vanquished when he broke the power of Alp 
Arslan. And when himself sorely wounded 
in the fiercest crisis of that decisive battle, I 
heard him say that he considered his blood 
but the price he paid for the salvation of 
your Eden and of you." 

Evangelist was proceeding to tell further 
of the goodness and liberality of Adonais to 
his attendants and ministers, " of which," he 
said, " I myself am proof," when Una, hastily 
gathering up her robes, as if she was afraid 
to listen any more, entreated him to forbear, 
for she would rather hear no more of one to 
whom, her heart told her, she could not sur- 
render herself. So she withdrew, but not 
before she had granted the clinging request 
of Evangeline that they might present them- 
selves before her in three days' time. 



UNA THE BRIDE. 241 

When next audience was given, Una 
seemed in the interval to have wellnigh 
steeled herself against further entreaty. She 
begged it as a favor of Evangelist that he 
should not urge another word in support of 
his suit. She loved her native valley, her 
beautiful home, Deborah and Dorcas, the 
nurses of her childhood, and Felicitas and 
Perpetua, the playmates of her youth, and 
her friends among the poor ; but she did not 
and could not love one whom she had never 
seen. Let the embassy leave her, and depart 
in peace. 

And then Evangelist made answer : " I 
will not further intercede myself on behalf of 
my prince, illustrious Una, if such is your 
pleasure. But Adonais charged me, if other 
pleas should fail, to give you this parchment 
written with his own hand. And Hamme- 
lech, the king of kings, sent you this portrait 
of his only and beloved son." 

The parchment was closely folded, and 
sealed with the signet which Adonais always 
16 



242 UXA THE BRIDE. 

wore on his right hand, of which the device 
was a rescued lamb in the shepherd's arms. 
And the portrait was the cunning work of 
the subtlest artist in the kingdom, and was 
set all in gold and rubies, telling of the burn- 
ing love of him whose noble countenance it 
delineated. 

Una took the portrait with a trembling 
hand (no one had ever seen that hand shake 
till now), and placed it on the porphyry 
table before her, and gazed on it at first 
dreamily, but soon more intently ; and then 
she took the parchment and held it a long 
while unopened ; but at last, as one musing 
or amazed, she broke the seal and began to 
read, line after line, and sentence after 
sentence. No one ever knew all that was 
written there save herself. Only as she 
caught the meaning of the words her eye was 
moistened with tenderness, and before she 
had read one half she could not see clearly 
for the mist of tears. So she laid the parch- 
ment down and gazed again upon the portrait. 



UNA THE BRIDE. 243 

And it seemed she was utterly unconscious 
of the presence of Evangelist and Fidus, and 
of Evangeline and her maidens. For anon 
she read another sentence, and then again 
looked wistfully at the portrait ; and then 
again she read on and on. But when she 
came to the closing words, " I sign my letter 
in my own blood, blood that flowed from a 
deep wound received in a battle fought, Una, 
for thy sake, and which may assure thee I 
love thee unto death, and am for ever and 
for ever thine own Adonais," Una restrained 
herself no more ; she leaned her head on 
the bosom of Grace, who at the moment 
seemed instinctively to draw near to her side, 
and wept silently and long. 

Hardly half an hour had passed away, 
before Evangelist broke the stillness by ask- 
ing whether Una would now grant him per- 
mission again to urge his beloved master's 
suit. But she answered in a low, sweet voice, 
" Thy master's suit is granted," and gave 
the ambassador her little snow-white hand in 



244 UNA THE BRIDE. 

token of the royal word having passed her 
lips. Evangelist respectfully grasped it in 
both his hands, looking up to heaven in over- 
flowing thankfulness, and, having pressed it 
once and again to his lips, he took from the 
purse in his girdle a ring of priceless value 
with which Adonais had entrusted him, and 
placed it on Una's finger as the ring of be- 
trothal. Then at his beck Fidus approached, 
bearing a casket of pearls and gems, such as 
Eden had never known, for the household of 
the princess. So Una summoned Dorcas and 
Deborah, with her lovely twin girls, and her- 
self fastened around their neck and wrists 
these jewels of dazzling beauty, telling them 
in broken whispers how she had pledged her 
heart and hand to Adonais. And meanwhile 
the three handmaidens of Evangeline at her 
request touched their silvery lutes, and sung 
the most exquisite song which Una had ever 
heard. The words and the music alike were 
composed by the prince himself, who was a 
lyrist of no mean order, and the burden of it 



UNA THE BRIDE. 245 

was, " Rise up, my love, my fair one, and 
come away ; for, lo, the winter is past, the 
rain is over and gone, the flowers appear on 
the earth, the time of the singing of birds is 
come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in 
the land. Arise, my love, my fair one, and 
come away." And Evangelist and Evan- 
geline, as if now they were permitted to 
speak on Una's behalf, sang right nobly 
in response, " My beloved is mine, and I 
am his; he feedeth among the lilies. Un- 
til the day break and the shadows flee 
away, turn, my beloved : and be thou like 
a roe or young hart upon the mountains of 
Bether. " 1 

The sun had not set behind the western 
hills before Fidus was despatched to bear the 
glad tidings of Una's consent to the imperial 
court. At least one moon must wax and 
wane before with the utmost speed an answer 
could be received. Now, it is worthy of note 
that Una was never for doing things by 

1 Bether, which, being interpreted, is " division." 



246 UKA THE BKIDE. 

halves. She was like the cloud of the poet, 

" Which moveth altogether if it move at all ; " 

and she therefore joyfully anticipated that 
the prince would immediately either send his 
chosen body-guard to escort her to Shushan, 
or himself come with the quick footsteps of 
love to claim his bride in Eden. 

But the reply was brought by Fidus to 
Evangelist. It was in the form of a letter 
addressed to the ambassador, containing a 
sealed inclosure for the princess. Both com- 
munications were in the handwriting of 
Adonais. Una thrust hers into the folds of 
her garment, and retired into her innermost 
chamber to read it. The letter was long. 
It began with assurances of holy and tender 
delight (a delight altogether shared by Ham- 
melech his father) in the pledged affection of 
his beautiful betrothed princess. It went on 
to tell of the ardent love with which he had 
watched over her childhood and early youth, 
when she had scarcely heard his name. It 
alluded, though briefly, to the mighty wars 



UNA THE BEIDE. 247 

he had waged in defence of her sequestered 
Eden. And then it narrated with what 
ardent anxiety he awaited the success of the 
mission of Evangelist, how he rejoiced with 
joy unspeakable at the tidings brought by 
Fidus, and how he embraced her with all his 
heart, and should esteem their bridal as the 
crown of his every hope. But it went on to 
say, that the rebels in the province to the 
north of Eden were not yet altogether put 
down. The foe had been indeed utterly routed 
in that pitched battle wherein Adonais him- 
self had been so sorely wounded, but the 
rebellious troops, though scattered, were not 
destroyed. Alp Arslan had broken prison, 
and was ranging to and fro with intent to band 
them in a new confederacy. Hence Adonais 
wrote that he was unwilling to claim Una as 
his bride with his military task not wholly 
accomplished. He could not bear the thought 
that Alp Arslan in his madness might even 
attempt to mar their marriage festivities. 
He therefore proposed (and this was his 



248 UNA THE BEIDE. 

father's good pleasure too), first to crush the 
still smouldering embers of this rebellion, to 
storm every mountain fastness of the foe, 
and not to rest till he had taken Alp 
Arslan captive again, and sent him in chains 
to the imperial dungeon, from whence escape 
was hopeless. He could not absolutely fix 
the term of the war: it should be as short 
as love could make it. But, meanwhile, he 
longed that his Una should yet further pre- 
pare herself for the vast responsibilities that 
were before her as the future empress of the 
greatest monarchy in the world. He tenderly 
intimated that she was still but young, and 
that one who had so lovingly promised to be 
his equal partner for life should be able to 
sympathize with all his interests and pursuits. 
He said that Evangelist and Evangeline 
knew his mind, and would glady give their 
counsel whenever she demanded it. He 
further said that he was building for her 
a palatial mansion, adorned with gold and 
silver and precious stones, within the walls 



UNA THE BRIDE. 249 

of Shushan. which would eclipse every other 
in the universe. And he concluded by 
dwelling on the long happy years they might 
hope to spend in that mansion, interspersed 

with not unfrequent visits to her native 
Eden, years of holy union, which should be 
none the less fruitful in abiding joy for the 
delay which intervened before the accom- 
plishment of his heart's desire. 

As Una finished reading this letter she 
heaved an involuntary sigh from the very 
bottom of her heart. For though at first she 
so greatly shrank from leaving her native 
valley, and entrusting her happiness to the 
custody of the prince, even as I have nar- 
rated, yet now that her choice was made and 
her affections won, she could hardly brook 
delay. She could not. however, but admit 
the wisdom of Adonais's resolve. She said 
to herself, it must cost him even more than 
it costs me ; for he has seen the one whom 
he is pleased to love, whereas I have only 
seen his portrait and read his dear words of 



250 UKA THE BRIDE. 

affection ; and yet lie deems it best to post- 
pone our bridal. Then she rejoiced to think 
with what confidence Adonais wrote of put- 
ting all his enemies under his feet. And lastly, 
she dwelt with peculiar delight on his words, 
that the interval should be as short as love 
could make it. So, early on the morrow she 
sent for Evangelist, and set herself in right 
earnest to fulfil the good pleasure of the prince. 
The interval, indeed, proved far longer 
than she had thought. But the studies 
which Evangelist suggested, and which she 
pursued with Evangeline, were in themselves 
so intensely interesting, and bore so evidently 
on her future exalted lot, that often the day 
seemed hardly long enough for its manifold 
claims. The affairs of her own principality 
demanded often serious attention ; nor would 
she altogether forego her favorite rambles 
through the forests, nor her visits to the poor. 
Still there were many moments, even in her 
busiest days, in which her thoughts flew to 
Adonais like a dove to its nest. And the 



UNA THE BRIDE. 251 

irrepressible question rose to her lips, why- 
tarry the wheels of his chariot? 

Many things would set her a longing ; — 
if she did but hear the prince's name ; if she 
did but touch the betrothal ring on her 
finger ; if her eyes did but fall on his por- 
trait ; if Evangelist discoursed of his wisdom, 
or Evangeline and her maidens sang, as they 
were wont to do, of his excellent glory; if, 
as not seldom, she received some choice token 
of affection from him, some jewel which he 
had purchased, or some banner which he had 
conquered in the war, or haply a letter writ- 
ten with his own hand telling of his victories 
and nearer advent, — then, as aforesaid, she 
felt a longing, and was overheard more than 
once, even in her dreams, to say, " Come 
quickly, my beloved, come." 

But at length, when hope deferred had 
become a strange habitual craving of heart, 
— for two years had already passed, and the 
joyous springtide of the third year was glad- 
dening the eye with beauty and refreshing 



252 UNA THE BEIDE. 

the ear with song, — there came a post late 
one night with a letter from the prince him- 
self to Una, telling her that after many- 
wearisome marches he had overtaken and 
overcome the last troops of the enemy, that 
Alp Arslan was in chains once more, that 
the mansion in Shushan was completed, and 
begging her to come to meet him just beyond 
the frontier defile of Eden on the morrow. 

As Evangelist had always told her that, 
from what he knew of the prince's character 
and purpose, the announcement of his coming 
would be sudden at last, she was not taken 
by surprise. It was nothing but joyous 
delight. All was in readiness. The affairs 
of Eden were despatched with a few words. 
The arrangements of her home were com- 
plete. Her choice jewels, save only her 
betrothal ring, were soon distributed among 
her early friends ; for Adonais had begged 
it as a special favor that she would expect 
her bridal adornments from the imperial city. 
So her chariot horses were soon caparisoned, 



UNA THE BRIDE. 253 

and very early in the morning she was on 

her way. The air was breezy with the bless- 
ings of her affectionate people. Dorcas and 
Deborah, with her children, Perpetua and 
Felicitas. accompanied her to the entrance 
of the mountain pass, where they resigned 
her to the care of Evangelist and his suite. 

As she was passing through the defile 
another embassy from the imperial court met 
her, bearing bridal gifts from the king of 
kings, and Evangeline and her maidens 
arrayed the lovely Una in far more beau- 
tiful garments and jewels than she had ever 
dreamed of before. Yet in truth at that hour 
she scarcely bestowed a passing thought 
upon them, for she was continually asking 
herself, where is Adonais ? 

At length, however, she emerged from the 
shadow of the defile into the spacious plain 
beyond, and there, far as the eye could reach. 
stretched the magnificent army of the prince. 
In the centre was pitched his royal pavilion, 
and over it the imperial standard, with its 



254 UNA THE BRIDE. 

peace device of lilies interwoven with roses 
floating on the wind. But now, as messenger 
after messenger met her chariot, Una drooped 
her bridal veil to hide the burning blushes of 
her joy. And at last the cry was heard, 
" The prince, the prince ! long live Adon- 
ais ! " And in truth it was he. And the 
clarions sounded, and the trumpets rang, and 
the air was rent with military music. 

But who shall rightly describe the beauty 
and the glory of the prince, the calm majesty 
of his beaming countenance, the nobility of 
his brow, the penetrating glance of his eye, 
and the deep melody of his voice ? He was 
in truth the idol of his soldiers, and was sur- 
rounded by a brilliant staff of officers. But 
as he waved his hand they fell off from him 
on either side, and his bosom friend alone 
rode forward and whispered to Evangelist, 
that it was the prince's desire that Una 
should alight and meet him alone. With 
stately grace she descended from her chariot, 
and fifty paces further on, the royal bride- 



UNA THE BRIDE. 2bO 

groom met the bride of his heart. His hand 
lifted her transparent veil. His lips met hers. 
She would have sunk to the earth, but he 
caught and clasped her to his bosom, saying, 
wfc Thou art mine ; " and she answered in the 
words which she had caught from Evange- 
line's song, " My beloved is mine, and I am 
his." 

The nuptials were celebrated that day in 
the presence of the rejoicing army ; and the 
prince led his lovely bride to his royal pavil- 
ion amid shouts of welcome so loud that the 
earth rang again to the echoes of " Long 
live Adonais ! long live Una ! " For three 
days, such was their leader's command, the 
soldiers celebrated the auspicious spousal in 
festivities throughout the camp, and then 
Adonais ordered that the mighty host should 
turn their standards homewards ; — so 

" Now the soft peace-march beats, Home, brothers, home ; " 

and by easy stages at last they arrived before 
the walls of Shushan, the palace. There the 



256 * UNA THE BRIDE. 

prince presented Iris beautiful bride to Ham- 
melech his father, who was no less delighted 
with the modesty of her wisdom than with 
the surpassing loveliness of her countenance. 
As the three discoursed a long while on vari- 
ous topics of imperial moment, and Una 
found herself able to enter intelligently and 
with graceful ease into every question, how 
glad was she in her heart of the diligent use 
to which she had put the weary interval of 
delay before her bridal ! 

And from his father's palace Adonais led 
her with joyous expectations to his own, that 
peerless mansion which he had himself devised 
and builded for her dwelling-place, and every 
part of which was furnished by his express 
directions for her entertainment and delight. 
And in truth, as she wandered from room to 
room, or reclined beside the cool fountains in 
the hanging gardens, which recalled all her 
dreams of Paradise, she found herself repeat- 
ing unconsciously the words which fell from 
the lips of Sheba's queen in the presence of 



UNA THE BEIDE. 257 

Solomon : " It was a true report that I heard 
in mine own land of thy acts and of thy wis- 
dom ; howbeit I believed not the words until 
I came and mine eyes had seen it ; and be- 
hold the half was not told me." 

The city was beautiful, the palace was 
beautiful, the gardens were beautiful. But 
far, far beyond all other delights was her 
communion with Adonais himself. His glory 
and his grace satisfied every longing of her 
heart. And when Evangeline ventured to 
&sk her what now she thought of her spouse, 
she could only make reply, " My beloved 
is the chiefest among ten thousand ; yea, he 
is altogether lovely : and he is mine, and I 
am his, for ever and for ever." 

I may not pursue the story. But I heard 
that in after years Una became the joyful 
mother of children, whom she. made princes 
in all lands, and that one of her sons reigned 
as her viceroy, the lord regent of Eden. 
There was constant and uninterrupted com- 
munication between her native valley and 
17 



258 UNA THE BRIDE. * 

Shushan the palace ; and it was admitted by 
universal consent, that the secluded princi- 
pality of Eden was the favorite retreat of 
Adonais and his household. 

1VJOW Oberlin, having come to the end of 
his story, did not wait to be questioned 
by the eager opening lips of his grandchildren ; 
but, before they could speak a word, he con- 
tinued : " I will read you, my "children, 
the verses of that poem which first gave 
me the thought of my parable, because I 
think they explain in very few and very 
beautiful words the meaning of much of that 
story which I see has so interested you. The 
poem is called ' The Soul of Man, and the 
Immortality Thereof,' and was written by 
Sir John Davies, an eminent lawyer in Queen 
Elizabeth's reign. Indeed, the poem was 
dedicated to her, and first appeared in the 
year of our Lord 1599. He is proving the 
divine origin of the soul : — 



UNA THE BK1DE. 259 

■ Which in this earthly mold 
The Spirit of God doth secretlie infuse, 
Because at first she doth the earth behould, 
And onely tins rnateriall world she viewes ; 

* At first our mother-earth shee holdeth dere, 

And doth embrace the world and worldly things ; 
She flyes close by the ground and houers here, 
And mounts not vp with her celestiall wings : 

1 Yet vnder heauen shee cannot light on ought 
That with her heauenly nature doth agree ; 
She cannot rest, she cannot fix her thought, 
She cannot in this world contented be/ 

And after a few verses of like argument, 
Sir John Davies goes on. (I do not think 
there are any old English words which will 
puzzle you, though perhaps the spelling 
might.) 

* Sith then her heauenly kind shee doth bewray, 

In that to God she doth directly moue, 
And on no mortall thing can make her stay, 
She cannot be from hence, but from aboue. 

' And yet this first true cause and last good end, 

She cannot heere so well and truly see : 
For this perfection she must yet attend, 
Till to her Maker shee espoused bee. 



260 UNA THE BRIDE. 

' As a king's daughter, being in person sought 
Of diuerse princes which do neighbour neare, 
On none of them can fixe a constant thought, 
Though shee to all doe lend a gentle eare ; 

i Yet can she hue aforraine emperour 

Whom of great worth and powre she Keares to be, 
If she be woo'd but by ambassadour, 
r but his letters or his pictures see ; 

( For well she knows that, when she shal be brought 
Into the kingdome where her spouse doth raigne, 
Her eyes shall see what shee concerned in thought, 
Himselfe, his state, his glorie, and his traine. 

* So, while the virgin soule on earth doth stay, 

She woo'd and tempted is ten thousand waves 
By those great powers, which on the earth beare sway 
The wisdome of the world, wealth, pleasure, praise : 

" With these sometime she doth her time beguile, 
These do by fits her phantasie possesse, 
But she distasts them all within a while, 
And in the sweetest finds a tediousnesse. 

' But if vpon the world's Almightie King 

She once doe fixe her humble, louing thought, 
Who by his picture drawne in euery thing 
And sacred messages her loue hath sought ; 

1 Of him she thinks she cannot thinke too much ; 

This hony tasted still is euer sweete ; 
The pleasure of her rauisht thought is such, 
As almost here she with her blisse doth meete. 



UNA THE BRIDE. 261 

' But when in heauen she shall his Essence see, 

This is her soueraigne good and perfect blisse ; 
Her longings, wishings, hopes, all finisht bee, 
Her ioyes are full, her motions rest in this : 

1 There is she crownd with garlands of content ; 

There doth she manna eate and nectar drinke ; 
That presence doth such high delights present, 
As neuer tongue could speake, nor hart could thinke/ " 

As Oberlin laid down the choice antique 
little volume from which he read this frag- 
ment, old Robin could contain himself no 
more, but lifted up his hands in amazement, 
exclaiming, " Well, sir, that is perfectly de- 
lightful. It not only takes me back to the 
days in which I courted my Jean, — and you 
know, sir, she had to wait five years for me 
while I was in the Indies, — but someway, I 
cannot tell how, this parable of yours, sir, 
seems to make all our life one long love- 
story." 

" And yet," said Oberlin, "have we not 
abundant warrant in Scripture for picturing 
God's love to us under the similitude of a 
bridegroom's love to the bride ? Cannot my 



262 UNA THE BRIDE. 

children give me proofs of this from their 
Bibles ? " 

" I thought of the words," answered Aim£e, 
" ' Hearken, O daughter, and consider, and 
incline thine ear ; forget also thine own peo- 
ple and thy father's house ; so shall the King 
greatly desire thy beauty ; for He is thy Lord, 
and worship thou Him.' " 2 

" And I," said Gustave, " of the verses we 
learnt after hearing Avehdah, ' Thou shalt no 
more be termed forsaken, neither shal] thy 
land any more be termed desolate. But thou 
shalt be called Hephzibah, and thy land Beu- 
lah ; for the Lord delighteth in thee, and thy 
land shall be married.' 2 And I remember 
the next verse went on to say, 6 As the bride- 
groom rejoiceth over the bride, so shall thy 
God rejoice over thee.' " 

" I could only think," said Roschen, " of 
the parable of Jesus ; but you know He said, 
c The kingdom of heaven is like unto a certain 
king, who made a marriage for his son. ' " 3 

1 Psalm xlv. 10, 11. 2 Isa. lxii. 5. 3 Matt. xxii. 2. 






UNA THE BRIDE. 263 

"Have you a verse, Adolphe ? " asked 
Oberlin. 

" Well, grandfather," replied Adolplie, " I 
was turning over in my mind those words you 
read in church this afternoon. Here they 
are : — ' Husbands, love your wives, even as 
Christ also loved the church, and gave Him- 
self for it, that He might sanctify and cleanse 
it with the water by the word, that He might 
present it to Himself a glorious church, not 
having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing ; 
but that it should be holy and without blem- 
ish. So ought men to love their wives as 
their own bodies. He that loveth his wife 
loveth himself. For no man ever yet hated 
his own flesh, but nourisheth and cherisheth 
it, even as the Lord the church.' * But when 
you read those verses by Sir John Davies 
I was puzzled, for he seems to speak of the 
soul, and the Bible to speak of the whole 
church, being the bride." 

"I do not think," said Oberlin, "that this 

i Eph. v. 25-29. 



264 UXA THE BRIDE. 

perplexity need disturb our enjoyment of the 
figure, nor our interpretation of the parable. 
Let us remember what St. Paul said to the 
Corinthian Christians : ' I am jealous over you 
with godly jealousy, for I have espoused }^ou 
to one husband, that I may present you as a 
chaste virgin to Christ.' 1 There he speaks 
of the believers in Corinth as the bride, yet 
they were in truth but a very small part of 
Christ's mystical body. It is so with other 
figures. Take that of a temple. Sometimes 
each saint is said to be God's temple, some- 
times each Christian church, sometimes the 
holy church universal in heaven and earth. 
So is every member of the spouse of Christ 
spoken of as His bride, and each and all may 
say, in the language of the Song of Solomon, 
4 1 am my Beloved's, and my Beloved is 
mine.' 2 Until, at last, the perfect unity of 
the church shall be seen, when the marriage 
of the Lamb is come, and His wife shall have 
made herself ready." 3 

i 2 Cor. xi. 2. 2 Song vi. 3. 3 Rev. xix. 7. 



UXA THE BRIDE. 265 

" Then, grandfather," said Aclolphe, " an- 
other difficulty struck me. Una was so good; 
a little wayward, perhaps, but oh, so good 
and gentle and kind before Adonais sought 
her hand. And you have always taught us 
from the Bible that the heart is evil, until 
Jesus makes it His own." 

"Dear boy," answered Oberlin, " yours is 
a thoughtful difficulty, but I have often told 
you we must not expect to get the whole 
round of Gospel teaching from one parable. 
We must be content if each figure sets forth 
one aspect of it. Some of our other parables 
taught us plainly enough the sin and misery 
of man before the grace of God visits him. I 
need but remind you of the Reef, or Avehdah, 
or Oyer the Hills Homeward, or the Plague- 
stricken City, or Eugene the Debtor. The 
great object of our story, this evening, is to 
picture forth the love of Jesus to us at last 
awakening our love to Him, as in His own 
gracious words, i Ye have not chosen me, but 
I have chosen you, and ordained you that ye 



266 UNA THE BRIDE. 

should go and bring forth fruit, and that your 
fruit should remain, that whatsoever ye shall 
ask of the Father, He may give it you." ' * 

" Would not my morning text, grand- 
father," asked little Roschen, " say this too, 
' We love Him because he first loved us ' ? " 2 

"It would, my lamb," answered Oberlin. 
" That is the key to our life's long love-story, 
as Robin called it just now, and I think you 
will find with this key that almost every sen- 
tence of my parable expresses some spiritual 
truth. Could you make out the meaning of 
the names, my children ? " 

" Not all, grandfather," said Aim6e, " but 
I suppose Una means ' only,' and so ' only 
beloved,' for I observed the other day, when 
Solomon says, ' I was tender and only beloved 
in the sight of my mother,' 3 the word beloved 
is in italics, and that would leave ' only ' by 
itself. Then, of course, her playmates, Per- 
petua and Felicitas, mean * constancy and 

joy-' " 

1 John xv. 16. 2 1 John iv. 19. 3 Prov. iv. 3. 



UNA THE BRIDE. 267 

" And," said Adolplie, " Evangelist and 
Evangeline must signify 8 heralds of the Gos- 
pel ; ' Fidus must mean ' trusty ; ' Grace tells 
her own tale ; Ruth, I think, means ' pity ; ' 
and Ancora, I suppose, stands for 'hope.' 
Did you mark, Aimee, how it was Ancora 
who tried to kindle Una's expectations of 
Shushan, and Ruth who told of the tender 
compassions of Adonais, and Grace against 
whom Una leaned when she yielded to the 
entreaties of Evangelist? Have the names 
Hammelech and Adonais any meaning, grand- 
father ? " 

"Yes," replied Oberlin. " Hammelech 
means ' the King,' and Adonais signifies 
< Lord.' " 

" And does Alp Arslan, the name of the 
rebel chief, mean any thing ? " asked Gus- 
tave. 

" Yes," said Oberlin, " Alp Arslan is the 
Saracen for ' a bold lion.' " 

" Oh! then, of course," said Marie, "that 
is ' our adversary the devil, who goes about 



268 UNA THE BRIDE. 

as a roaring lion, seeking whom he may 
devour.' * And I suppose the dreadful 
wound which Adonais received in battle 
with the foe is the serpent bruising the heel 
of the blessed Saviour on the cross." 

" Quite right," said Oberlin ; " and now 
that you have the right meaning of these 
names, and Sir John Davies's beautiful poem 
to help you, I think you hardly want any 
more aid from me to unlqck every secret 
drawer of my cabinet, and to make all that 
is there your own. What I chiefly wanted 
you to learn from it was, how Jesus Christ 
wooes and wins the love of our hearts. His 
Gospel pleads for Him. His Spirit with all 
His tender graces urges His heavenly suit. 
He will take no denial. He knocks again 
and again at the door, till His people are 
made willing in the day of His power ; and 
then, when they open the door, He comes 
in and betroths them to Himself in an ever- 
lasting covenant of love." 

1 1 Peter v. 8. 



UNA THE BRIDE. 269 

" And yet, grandfather," said Aim£e, 
" Una had a long, long time to wait, after 
she consented to become the bride of Adon- 
ais, before her marriage day." 

" But the time was not lost, Aimee, was 
it ? " rejoined Oberlin. " We too have a long 
while to wait after Jesus wins our hearts, 
before we see Him as He is and love Him as 
we ought. Or, if you interpret my parable 
of the whole church, Jesus betrothed her to 
Himself when He came the first time in great 
humility, and sent forth His ambassadors into 
all the world. Then the betrothal ring was 
put on her finger, and she was enriched with 
priceless jewels of His grace. But He went 
into a far country to receive for Himself a 
kingdom and to return. He is expecting 
until His foes are made His footstool. But, 
meanwhile, His church year by year is learn- 
ing innumerable lessons, which will make her 
more fit to enter into His mind and share 
His throne for ever. She is suffering with 
Him now that she may reign with Him for 



270 UNA THE BRIDE. 

ever. - But, when His time is fully come, He 
will come again and receive her unto Him- 
self, that where He is there she may be also." 

" O grandfather," said Gustave, " I was so 
glad that Una did not altogether lose her 
native Eden by going to dwell at Shushan. 
But what does this mean ? We cannot keep 
our earthly joys when we go to be with Jesus 
in heaven." 

" Perhaps our next parable may tell us 
more of this, Gustave," answered Oberlin. 
" But, meanwhile, please read the first three 
verses of the twenty-first chapter of Revela- 
tion." 

Gustave reads : — " And I saw a new 
heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven 
and the first earth were passed away, and 
there was no more sea. And I, John, saw 
the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down 
from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride 
adorned for her husband. And I heard a 
great voice out of heaven, saying, Behold the 
tabernacle of God is with men, and He will 



UNA THE BRIDE. 271 

dwell with them, and they shall be His peo- 
ple, and God Himself shall be with them and 
be their God/' 

"You see," said Oberlin, " there is a new 
earth as well as a new heaven, and these are 
for ever united in eternity. And as the par- 
able tells of Una making her children princes 
in all lands, herein echoing the promise of 
the song of loves, 1 so we are assured, regard- 
ing the kingdom of our Emanuel, ; Of the 
increase of His government and peace there 
shall be no end.' 2 Only let us yield our 
hearts up to the messages of His love now, 
and when He brings us home to the many 
mansions of His Father, and makes us to 
inherit His everlasting kingdom, we, too, each 
one of us, shall say with the Queen of Sheba, 
6 The half was not told me.' " 

1 Psalm xlv. 16. 2Isa. j x . 7. 



BEYOND THE KIVER 



OT a shadow of a cloud 
flecked the moun- 
tains. The sum- 
mer sun was setting 
and bathing in its 
pure amber light 
the vineyards and 
groves of arbutus 
through which the 
frontier river flowed 
between France and 
Switzerland ; espe- 
cially where, at the furthest extremity of a 
secluded valley, the river broadened into what 
were known as Les Basses Terribles, so named 
from many travellers having lost their lives 
in attempting to wade through the shallows, 
the roseate hues of evening were reflected as 




BEYOND THE RIVEK. 273 

in a broad mirror to heaven. The valley, 
which was called at that time Le Vol de 
Grace, though the name has long since 
passed away, was one of the most fertile in 
all France, and from its opening defile to the 
banks of the river, extended nearly twenty 
miles in length. But that river then flowed 
between the land of fiery persecution and the 
mountain fastnesses of truth and freedom. 

Of that persecution my words here must 
be very few. Let it suffice to say that the 
soil of la belle France, from the English Chan- 
nel to the Jura Alps, from the Rhine to the 
Pyrenees, was stained with the blood of tens of 
thousands of her noblest citizens, whose only 
crime was an invincible love for the pure 
word of life. The scourge and the sword 
spared neither men, nor women, nor children. 
A ferocious and pitiless soldiery was quar- 
tered in the homes of holy piety and peace. 
The iron entered into the souls of the suf- 
ferers. Hard as it was to tear themselves 
from the homesteads of their childhood and 
18 



274 BEYOXD THE KTVER. 

the graves of their forefathers, their only 
safety was in flight ; and yet flight was 
sternly prohibited them under the rigid pen- 
alties of imprisonment and death. But in- 
flexible conscience braved all this for the 
truth's sake. It was found quite impossible 
to guard so extensive a frontier as France. 
By unfrequented paths over the hills and 
through the forests, in the darkness of night, 
amid the snows of winter, under the cloak of 
mists, through the howling of the tempests, 
in rude rafts over the rivers and in open 
boats by sea, month after month, and year 
after year, the refugees made their escape 
from their unhappy and ungrateful father- 
land. Other countries were as much en- 
riched as France was drained by this exodus 
of the best and faithfullest of her children. 
Le Vol de Grace, lying so sequestered from 
the main courses of travel and of traffic, was 
one of the latest spots on which the storms 
of persecution fell, and hence it had been for 
many years a secret door of escape by which 



BEYOND THE KIVER. 275 

the refugees from other provinces, making 
their way across Les Basses Terribles, under 
the guidance of those who knew every shelv- 
ing ledge of the river fords, had gained the 
free and friendly shore of Switzerland. Im- 
mediately on the other side of the river there 
was a small retired glen of singular beauty 
and fruitfulness, sheltered by precipitous 
rocks from every stormy blast, and the nar- 
row entrance of which — so narrow that two 
could not walk abreast — was concealed by 
moss-grown rocks and overhanging trees. 
Here the refugees were accustomed to stay 
and refresh themselves for a while, until they 
had gained strength to go up to the city 
among the mountains. This city, Villafranca, 
or " the free city," as it was happily called 
after its Tuscan namesake by those who had 
escaped from a worse than Egyptian bondage, 
was rapidly rising in beauty and importance. 
Its situation was perfect. Built upon a fertile 
hill, through the vineyards of which flowed 
many springs of perennial water, it was itself 



276 BEYOXD THE KIVER. 

embosomed by ranges of yet loftier mountains. 
Its inhabitants were either those who had 
suffered the loss of all things for the truth's 
sake, or the free-born natives of the hills, who 
had welcomed them as brothers to this asy- 
lum of liberty. Wherever you looked, the 
graceful skill and untiring industry of the 
citizens were apparent. There were gardens 
of delight attached to every home. The 
noble spires of that beautiful temple, where, 
Sabbath by Sabbath and day by day, they 
met to worship God, none making them 
afraid, pierced the deep blue sky. A mas- 
sive wall surrounded the city, but the gates 
stood open night and day, for no foe dared to 
set his foot on that sacred soil. Switzerland 
was then, as now, Freedom's fortress. And 
the voice of song and the merry laughter of 
children were again heard in a thousand cir- 
cles, from which innocent mirth had seemed 
for ever banished. The princely leader un- 
der whose banner they had fought had his 
mansion here, and it was open to all who 



BEYOND THE RIVER. 277 

chose to partake of his boundless hospitali- 
ties. And the unflagging object of interest 
was, who next of their friends or kindred 
should join them in this their new but de- 
lightful home. 

I said that Le Val de Grace was one of 
the very last retreats on which persecution 
laid its cruel hands. . But at length the tem- 
pest fell. And now for six weeks that smil- 
ing valley had been desolated with fire and 
sword. The vineyards were trampled down, 
the modest churches given to the flames, and 
the fairest homes polluted with bloodshed 
and violence. Wherever the marauding 
soldiers reached, when they went on their 
way it was as if a dreadful avalanche had 
passed over the loving labors of immemorial 
years. 

How little nature seemed to reck of the 
disastrous deeds of man ! The sun, as I said, 
was sinking in unclouded glory. There was 
not a shadow of mist upon the hills. The 
air was crystal. And through a gorge of the 



278 BEYOND THE RIVER. 

mountains the spires and turrets of Villa- 
franca were easily discernible from the fords 
and far down the valley beyond. For the 
beauty and calm of the landscape it might 
have been what one has called " the sinless 
eve of a sinful world." 

It was upon that lovely summer evening I 
was gazing upon the mingled topaz and ruby 
and emerald of the sky reflected in the tran- 
quil waters of the fords ; and my thoughts 
had wandered far away to the better land of 
promise, when I was startled by hearing the 
anxious and somewhat feeble tread of an old 
man approaching the river brink. He led 
by the hand a lovely child, on whose innocent 
face certainly not more than six summers 
had imprinted their kisses, and who with 
unequal paces tripped timidly beside him. 
When they came to the very edge of the 
ford, the old man, looking keenly around and 
seeing no one, took the child in his arms and 
pressed her to his heart, and said in a low 
voice, though every accent fell on my ear, 



BEYOND THE RIVER. 279 

" Celeste, my pretty lamb, my blossom, I 
have shielded thee from a thousand dangers 
these last three weeks. The spoiler has not 
touched one of thy golden hairs. But, per- 
haps, the worst peril remains. I must bear 
thee, as best I may, over these treacherous 
shallows. I have never passed this way here- 
tofore. Oh, would that the prince who knows 
every step of the river-bed were but here 
himself to bear his little foster-sister to his 
beautiful city garden ! But we must not 
linger. May God protect us !" 

As the old man spoke, he dipped the soles 
of his feet in the shallow water, and was 
about to wade into the stream, when a noble 
figure, muffled in a warrior's scarlet cloak, 
approached from behind, and laying a hand 
upon his shoulder said, " Stay, Pascal, I am 
here. Give me thy precious burden. It is 
not thy time to cross over yet. I have yet 
work for thee to do on this side the river. 
The two brothers of this innocent babe — 
though they have suffer ed and toiled far 



280 BEYOND THE RIVER. 

more than she whom thou hast borne in thine 
aged arms so many weary leagues — have, I 
know, hitherto escaped the sword of the foe. 
They too are making for these fords by many 
a perilous track. But they cannot now be so 
very far away. In a day, or two days at the 
longest, methinks they will be here. Pascal, 
wilt not thou for my sake and for the sake 
of Celeste, tarry on this side a little longer, 
and «eek out Hilaire and Victor, and en- 
courage them for this last trial of their faith ? 
I will return and meet them at this spot, and 
when I have placed them in safety with this 
lamb, will conduct thee, their faithful and 
tender shepherd, over to our happy fold yon- 
der. Be of good comfort. There are no 
troubles there." 

The old man did not wait for the prince to 
finish his entreaty ; but resigned his priceless 
charge to her foster-brother's clasp, and him- 
self regained the shore. But whether it was 
that the chill of the waters that had flowed 
around his ankles produced a dizziness of 



BEYOND THE RIVER. 281 

brain, or whether the gorgeous sunset light 
upon the shallows into which the prince im- 
mediately waded dazzled him, or whether an 
intense craving to go with his little ewe lamb 
unnerved him for a few minutes, I know not. 
Certain it was, Pascal very soon lost sight 
both of the child and of the prince. But he 
thought he heard a voice which sounded far 
away over the waters, and it seemed to come 
from that radiant track they had trod- 
den, " Good by — soon, very soon to meet 
again." 

Then Pascal remembered the flask, con- 
taining a restorative cordial, which the prince 
had slipped into the bosom of his dress when 
they parted; and he drank of it, and was 
refreshed, and turned with new strength to 
seek for Hilaire and Victor. 

Meanwhile, the prince, with Celeste in his 
arms, had waded two-thirds of the way across 
Les Basses Terribles. Even in the calmest 
weather, as that evening, the shallows were 
perilous, except to one who knew them well, 



282 BEYOXD THE RIVER. 

by reason of the extreme uneveimess of the 
river-bed. Now they would only reach to 
the knees, and a few feet further on the un- 
wary traveller would find himself up to his 
armpits in water, or even out of his depth 
altogether. But so deftly did the prince 
pick his way through the mazes of the ford, 
that thus far he had not dipped even the 
skirt of Celeste's garment in the river. 
There remained, however, the deepest chan- 
nel of the passage. The waters now washed 
his loins, and the rock still shelved down- 
wards. Only saying to Celeste, " Throw your 
arms around my neck, darling, and fear noth- 
ing," he pressed on. For a few moments the 
gently rippling waves flowed over the slender 
form of the child as she clung to the prince, 
though he rather held her than she him ; but 
the rays of the setting sun shone so brightly 
upon her clear blue eyes, not even a shudder 
passed through, her tender limbs, nor did a 
§ob rise to her lips. She only looked up into 
the prince's face and smiled. And now, for 



BEYOND THE RIVER. 283 

the water shoaled rapidly, he bore her quickly 
to the further brink of the river, and fer- 
vently exclaiming, " Here my lamb is safe," 
he carried her in his arms to the little glen 
of which I spoke before. Passing rapidly 
through the narrow entrance, three lovely 
maidens met him, robed in white, to one of 
whom he gave his little nursling, and she 
took Celeste and stripped her of her dripping 
garments and put on her shining apparel as 
pure as the driven snow, and led her among 
some playmates of her own age, who were 
singing in the purple twilight. But I could 
see no more by reason of the overhanging 
moss-grown rock and the bowering trees. 

That night the storm clouds, which had 
been gathering unseen behind the mountains, 
broke in a tempest on the nearer hills. The 
blue lightnings seemed to open a pathway 
into the unutterable glory of the heavens. 
These were followed by drifts of impetuous 
rains. The water-courses were soon filled to 
their very brim. A thousand wayside brook- 



284 BEYOND THE RIVER. 

lets filled the river, and the next morning 
Les Basses Terribles was one roaring, seeth- 
ing torrent from shore to shore. " Thank 
God," I said to myself, " Celeste is safe 
across the fords. How I wish I knew where 
Pascal was, and the two boys he went to 
seek ! " I had not long to wait for tidings 
of them, for as I retraced my footsteps along 
Le Vol de Grace, I saw Hilaire in the midst 
of a group of insolent and exultant soldiers. 
He was nearly twice the age of Celeste, and 
for precaution's sake, to avoid observation, he 
had travelled an altogether different track 
from that pursued by the aged Pascal and 
his little sister. He had chosen to thread 
the labyrinths of the vineyard paths ; while 
Victor, who was two years older than him- 
self, had taken the yet more difficult goat- 
tracks on the upper edge of the valley. 
Hilaire had escaped innumerable perils, which 
it were far too long here to narrate, and was 
pleasing himself with the thought that he 
was approaching the fords, for through the 



BEYOND THE RIVER. . 285 

crystal atmosphere of yesterday, on every 
vantage-ground which the vineyards gave 
him, he had caught many a glimpse of Villa- 
franca's walls and spires. But that stormful 
night had drenched him to the skin, and very 
early in the morning, observing a watch-fire 
burning in a forest, he had incautiously 
drawn near ; and hearing a voice which he 
mistook for that of a friend, he approached 
the group which was gathered round the 
ruddy flame. In a moment he was seen and 
seized. Alas ! his supposed friend had proved 
a traitor to the sacred cause of truth, and 
a guide to the cruel persecutors. Finding 
some leaves of the Gospel of St. John se- 
creted in the bosom of the boy's dress, they 
sought no further witness against him, but 
loaded him with hard words and harder 
blows ; and w^hen the sun was up they 
placed him in their midst, and compelled him 
to march on with them, bruised and footsore 
as he was, goading him on with the points 
of their swords. My heart was sore within 



286 BEYOND THE RIVER. 

me to think of the poor lad's fate. But now 
the soldiers, having reached their mid-day 
halt, tied the hapless Hilaire hand and foot, 
with cords that lacerated his wrists and 
ankles, to the stump of a mountain ash, and 
having thrown their cloaks on the turf lay 
down to rest. 

Then it was that I observed the aged Pas- 
cal, disguised as a shepherd, with his crook 
in hand and a skin bottle of wine slung over 
his shoulders, approaching them. Courte- 
ously saluting the soldiers, he offered them 
of the refreshing juice of the grape, and 
partook thereof himself, and afterwards cast 
himself on the ground beside them, appar- 
ently to rest. But no sooner were the men 
drenched in sleep than Pascal, noiselessly 
rising, stole to the side of Hilaire ; and, 
touching the tort cords that bound him with 
the keen edge of his shepherd's knife, set 
him in a moment free. The poor lad would 
have fallen to the earth ; but Pascal grasped 
him with a strength beyond his years, and 



BEYOND THE RIVER. 287 

half dragged, half carried him, for many 
hundred, yards, np the channel of a noisy 
mountain stream which flowed hard by. 
Then, springing into a thicket, by a thousand 
intricate turns and windings he made his pain- 
ful and perilous way towards the fords. 

The soldiers soon woke, and, missing their 
prize, shouted and hissed for rage ; but see- 
ing no footprints save those on the path by 
which the shepherd had approached, they 
pursued the fugitives in vain ; until at last, 
concluding the boy would certainly make for 
the fords, they bent their footsteps thither, if 
possible to intercept his flight. But when 
they reached a rising knoll which commanded 
a view of Les Basses Terribles, and saw the 
foaming waters which went eddying down 
the shallows, they did not care to approach 
nearer, arguing that no one could possibly 
cross that day. 

Now Pascal and Hilaire had reached the 
river brink but a little before them, and had 
concluded to lie concealed among the osiers 



288 BEYOXD THE KIVER. 

until the sudden flood had subsided. This, 
therefore, they did ; and in truth the waters 
began to sink almost as rapidly as they had 
risen. And now the sun set fiery red, and 
the saffron twilight faded into darkness, till 
the crescent moon arose, and then Pascal 
ventured to sing in a low voice a few words 
of a hymn, which was the signal agreed 
upon. They were immediately answered 
from some clustering shrubs on the left, and 
the well-known and majestic form of the 
prince appeared quietly moving along the 
bank of the river. 

Pressing his fingers upon his own lips in 
token of silence, the prince produced bread 
and wine from a wallet which he carried, by 
which, when the exhausted Pascal and Hil- 
aire had partaken, they were greatly re- 
vived. But the time was short ; and when 
the prince had whispered a few words in the 
ear of Pascal, the old man, silently wringing 
the hand of Hilaire, glided like a shadow 
himself away among the shadows of a rho- 



BEYOND THE RIVER. 289 

dodendron copse. He was soon lost from 
sight. And then the prince, taking Hilaire 
tenderly and firmly by the hand, said, " We 
must venture now ; " and at the word they 
waded into the stream, which even a few 
j-ards from the shore was up to the prince's 
loins. Could they have waited six hours 
more, the fords would have regained their 
usual level. But it might not be. There 
was not a moment to be lost, for one of the 
soldiers, happening to look through the misty 
moonlight, saw one or more figures against 
the sheen of the water, and instantly gave 
the alarm to his comrades. They rushed 
down the declivity to the river's side, but by 
this time the prince and Hilaire had gained a 
tiny furze-grown islet, whose bushes, still 
dripping from the recent flood, afforded them 
for a few minutes a scant shelter from obser- 
vation. But, the moon shining out from 
behind a cloud, the gleaming point of the 
prince's spear, which he used as a fording 
pole, revealed their retreat. And the soldiers, 
19 



290 BEYOND THE RIVER. 

with a jell of vengeance, dashed into the 
ford in pursuit. Not knowing the track, the 
two foremost floundered unawares into a 
deep pit, called " the dead man's grave," 
and, weighed down with their armor, sank, 
with a cry of despair, to rise no more. This 
brought the others to a standstill ; till at 
length some of them again took heart, and 
painfully groping their way every step, with 
many a curse on their lips, reached the islet. 
The rest regained the shore. 

Meanwhile, the prince and Hilaire, whose 
joyous courage was raised to the highest pitch 
by the peril of the hour and the nearness of 
safety, had already traversed successfully 
more than half the passage. Little more 
than their heads now appeared above water, 
the prince grasping his spear with one hand 
and holding Hilaire round his waist with the 
other ; but the soldiers on the islet, catching 
a glimpse of them by the struggling moon- 
light, discharged their arquebuses again and 
again. Those on the shore did likewise. 



BEYOND THE RIVER. 291 

The heavy shot ploughed the water all 
around, but the glancing current deceived 
the aim of their pursuers, and only one bolt 
grazed the left hand of Hilaire as he snatched 
for support at a branch that floated b}^. 
Instantly the prince whispered in his ear, 
" Be of good cheer, Hilaire, we shall soon be 
out of their reach : the deepest channel is 
now before us ; but trust to me;" and im- 
mediately grasping the boy with the strength 
of a giant, now wading, now standing tiptoe, 
and stemming the current on a narrow ledge 
of rock, now swimming for a few yards to 
the next resting-place, though sometimes for 
a few seconds the waters flowed over Hilaire's 
head, at last he buffeted his way to the fur- 
ther side. "All right now," said he; and 
Hilaire answered, "Yes, thanks to thee, my 
liege, all right." 

Swiftly the prince bore him to the sheltered 
glen, whither he had borne Celeste. The 
warden of the entrance received the boy at 
his hands and tenderly dressed his wounds, 



292 BEYOND THE RIVER. 

and clothed him in beautiful apparel, and, 
when the morning broke over the mountains, 
led him to a happy group of children, of 
whom Celeste was the first to throw her 
little arms around his neck and sob for joy. 

Now, when the aged Pascal had left 
Hilaire, he threaded his path through the 
shrubs and rocks, according to the prince's 
direction, to a ruined tower, which the enemy 
had consigned to the flames some little while 
before. It was built on a wooded ledge, half 
way up the cliff which formed the first 
ascent from the valley, but was now a roof- 
less tenement, whose blackened rafters, as 
you gazed up at them from the blood-stained 
floor, intersected the sky like a gridiron. 
Here, crouching into an arch behind some 
twisted hinges which alone remained to tell 
an oaken door had once been there, Pascal 
lay and rested, half awake, half asleep, for 
three hours, or more. 

He was roused by the approach of foot- 
steps and low suppressed voices. Yes, it 



BEYOND THE RIVER. 293 

was Victor, haggard and travel-worn, and 
weary with three weeks of privation and 
peril and pain ; but in his eye a dauntless 
fire which told of what blood he sprang. Nor 
was he alone. He led by the hand a little 
orphan boy scarcely so old as Celeste, whose 
name was Theodore, and whom four days 
before he had found absolutely starving on 
the skirts of the forest. His parents, broth- 
ers, and sisters had been ruthlessly murdered, 
and he only had escaped the merciless foe in 
the confusion. Victor, who was himself 
hiding in the wood, heard a child's voice 
feebly moaning, "Our Father which art in 
heaven." He instantly went to the boy's 
side, and broke into his lips the last crust, 
which was all that he had for his own food 
that day. Then, emerging from the wood at 
the risk of his life, he plucked some grapes 
that hung over the wall of a neighboring 
vineyard, and filled his leathern cup from a 
babbling stream, and brought them wearily 
to little Theodore. How his heart danced 



294 BEYOND THE RIVER. 

for joy to see the color coming back to the 
child's white lips, and the light to his large 
black eyes ! And how instinctively he vowed 
in his heart that he would never leave that 
innocent babe to perish ! 

Victor kept his vow, but it cost him dear. 
Things he could have dared and done, and 
would have dared and done without a second 
thought when alone, he could not dream of 
attempting with that little orphan clinging 
about his feet. They were sorely pinched 
with hunger: but once, when they were at 
the worst, a goat suffered Victor to approach 
her and milk into his leathern cup a draught 
of milk, in the strength of which they went 
for hours. Often they were within a hair's- 
breadth of discovery; and once, when lying 
beneath some newly mown grass, felt the 
ground tremble beneath the tread of a file of 
soldiers who passed within three feet of that 
ditch in which they lay. But God shielded 
them. During all that stormy night Theo- 
dore lay in Victor's bosom, who bent over 



BEYOND THE RIVER. 295 

liim hour after hour like the tenderest nurse, 
and kept warmth in his drenched limbs. 
And in the glow of the next evening the 
prince (it must have been an hour or so 
before he answered Pascal's signal by the 
river bank) came to them, when lurking in 
the hollow of an old yew-tree, and almost 
strengthless for want of food, and fed them 
with his own hands and cheered them on, 
assuring Victor that even with the care of 
little Theodore, by a rugged upland path of 
which he told them, they might reach the 
ruined tower overlooking the fords of which 
I spoke before daybreak, that there they 
should find Pascal, and that he himself 
would meet them by the river side, and con- 
duct them in safety over the waters. 

These, then, were the footsteps and these 
the voices which roused the half slumbers of 
Pascal. As they crept into the ruined tower, 
they passed his archway lair, and the old 
man at once recognized Victor and softly 
called him by his name. In another moment 



296 BEYOND THE EIYEH. 

the youth was in his arms, and drew Theo- 
dore to him for his blessing. But they had 
no time to lose. There was already the 
faintest streak of opal light in the eastern 
sky.' So the old man and the boys silently 
'stole down the side of the cliff by a goat 
path known to very few, and when they 
reached the bottom, now crouching among 
the ferns, now pressing on through copses 
and brakes, at length they stood undiscovered 
under the shadow of the river bank on the 
very brink of the fords. They had scarcely 
time to look around, when they saw the 
prince coming not fifty paces from them 
through the shallows. He warmly saluted 
them, and smiled with a smile of delighted 
majesty as Victor led Theodore to his feet. 
He laid his hands upon them all, and then 
calmly said, " The fords have sunk to their 
summer level. One journey across will suf- 
fice. You, Pascal, take Theodore in your 
arms, and I will hold you with my right hand 
and Victor with my left. The foe will not 



BEYOXD THE RIVER. 297 

be astir for another hour. There is no dan- 
ger in this early twilight." 

And so it came to pass. Without haste or 
even a shadow of fear they quietly and trust- 
fully made their way over Les Basses Terri- 
bles, sweetly conversing in the water of the 
manifold providences which had attended 
them, and of the happy reunion with long- 
parted friends which was before them. As 
they stepped on the further shore, the first 
ray of the rosy sun lighted up the snowy 
locks of the aged Pascal, till they shone like 
a crown of glory. 

The prince quickly led them to the seques- 
tered glen, which now sheltered so many 
rescued ones. Their dripping garments were 
all exchanged for comely apparel from his 
royal wardrobe, for he was pleased to keep 
a supply of vestments always there, and then 
they went further into the glen. And I 
heard a shout of glee from the children, and 
thought I distinguished the soft, clear voices 
of Celeste and Hilaire, who had only shortly 



298 BEYOND THE RIVER. 

before found each other, exclaiming, " And 
here's Victor! And here's Pascal, and a 
boy in his arms ! And oh, here's the 
prince ! " 

As I just glanced up and down that glen, 
it seemed to me a perfect little paradise, 
embracing in itself every thing for refresh- 
ment and repose. There were fruit-trees of 
all kinds, and mossy banks, and arbors, and 
streams of crystal water. But I could not 
see so much as I wished that morning, for 
my eyes swam so with tears of tenderness 
and gratitude, it almost seemed to me as if 
there was a veil over them. 

Seven happy days passed like dreams of 
delight, during which the children and Pascal 
lost every sense of fatigue and trace of suffer- 
ing. And then it was rumored that the 
prince intended to take them and the other 
travellers who had gathered there in his 
royal chariots to the mountain city, the new 
and beautiful metropolis, Villafranca. So, 
very early on the morrow morning there was 



- 




BEYOND THE RIVEK. 299 

a throng of chariots and a brave retinue of 
attendants, who waited all along the river 
banks by the entrance of the glen. The 
prince was now by the side of one, and now 
bj T the side of another. He had a word and 
a smile for every one. His presence was 
sunshine. 

But time would utterly fail me to sketch, 
however briefly, the past history of all those 
pilgrims, or their joyous ascent that day 
through the mountains, which echoed to their 
mirth and the songs of the charioteers, or 
their peaceful entrance within the walls of 
their city. Besides, I kept my eye especially 
upon Celeste and Hilaire, and Victor and 
Theodore and Pascal. They filled one char- 
iot ; and the prince blessed each and all of 
them as he passed on to the head of the pro- 
cession, and bade them be sure and follow 
him, even to his royal palace. 

And now right rapidly they moved onward 
through the fresh, balmy air. The air was 
filled with the melody of sweet voices utter- 



300 BEYOND THE RIVER. 

ing joy. Most delightful was the converse 
they held with the royal servants who had 
come from the city to attend them. With 
Pascal especially the ministering couriers 
were graciously familiar, and he communi- 
cated all he learned to the children. And 
every thing he told them awoke hallelujahs 
in their hearts, which often sprang unbidden 
to their lips. 

When they were within a mile of the city 
gates a large multitude of the citizens came 
forth to meet them, with garlands and banners 
and trumpets, and all instruments of music, 
and every sign which could testify how joyfully 
they welcomed them. It is quite impossible 
to tell the story of the meetings which took 
place that day of those who had parted from 
each other in pain and peril. Let it suffice 
to say, that as the mingled throng entered 
the open portals, the earth rang again, and 
again, and yet again, to their loud and per- 
sistent acclamations. 

Pascal and the little group of those he 



BEYOND THE RIVER. 301 

loved to call his children at length arrived 
at the mansions of the royal palace. The 
prince was there to welcome them at the 
door ; and when they passed into the hall of 
audience, lo, he was there on the throne. 
And he gave each one a token of his princely 
favor; to one a robe curiously inwrought 
with his name, to another a signet ring, to 
another a wand of office set with jewels. He 
himself entwined a garland of pearls among 
the beautiful ringlets of Celeste, and fastened 
his likeness with a chain of gold around the 
neck of Victor. 

And then he led them into his banqueting- 
hall, and himself assigned them an honorable 
place at his table, and heaped the board with 
the choicest viands. So hour after hour 
passed away ; until, after much precious con- 
verse with him and with each other, they 
passed forth to observe the marvels of the 
city. 

One thing I took especial notice of, namely, 
that whatever Pascal, or Victor, or Hilaire, 



302 BEYOND THE RIVER. 

or even little Celeste or Theodore, had taken 
chief delight in when they dwelt in their 
native valley, Le Vol de Grace, they found 
the same pleasure here in Villafranca, the 
city of the free, only in a purer form and a 
far higher degree. But to name a few exam- 
ples out of many : how they loved their 
modest home in the valley, their nest, they 
called it ; now this taste was gratified ; they 
had a mansion assigned them which was part 
of the wing of the royal palace, but was yet 
peculiarly their own. One of Victor's choicest 
pleasures had always been his garden ; and 
here there was an Eden in the very heart 
of the city. Hilaire's passion was music : 
here it seemed that every one could play 
well on an instrument, and every one could 
sing. Celeste's delight had often been in 
watching the shepherd leading his sheep and 
lambs through the green pastures of the val- 
ley ; here it often seemed to her, as the prince 
led them forth and explained his thoughts 
and purposes towards his people, that she 



BEYOND THE KIVER. 6i)6 

and her brother were the lambs and the 
prince himself the shepherd. 

But their chiefest joy, as they agreed with 
common consent, was the Sabbath-day in 
Villafranca. Here it was a rest indeed, un- 
broken by any thought of the foe. Here the 
happy family circles or groups of friends met 
together to study the pages of truth or sing 
their hymns, none making them afraid. And 
here were their holy convocations hi that 
beautiful temple which was the glory of all 
that land, and their solemn feasts of love, 
and those magnificent anthems in which 
thousands of voices joined in thanking God 
for their freedom and felicity in the happy 
city of the free. 

.o^c* — - 

" T^EAR, dear master," exclaimed Marie, 

with her eyes brimming over with 

tears, which coursed one another down her 

wrinkled cheeks, " did not all that really 



304 BEYOND THE RIVER. 

happen now ? I feel sure it did. I've heard 
my old father tell what he heard from his 
mother's mother, who fled herself with her 
three little pitiful bairns from beautiful 
France across the river Doubs into Swit- 
zerland; and I am sure some of the things 
you said might have been taken down from 
his blessed lips." 

" Well, Marie," answered Oberlin, while 
he brushed an answering tear from his own 
eye, " my tale was a parable. You must not 
question its history too closely. And yet you 
must forgive it, if it roots itself in fact, which 
is often stranger than fiction. I believe that 
some of our Divine Master's matchless para- 
bles, like the Good Samaritan and the Rich 
Man and Lazarus, were based on things 
which had recently occurred. But oh, how 
poor all other parables are to His ! " 

" I feel they are very different, grand- 
father," said Gustave ; "but in what way 
are they so much poorer?" 

" In every way," replied Oberlin. " Take 



BEYOND THE RIVER. 305 

one for example. Here have I been reading 
you thirty closely written pages, and we 
have perhaps caught some glimpses of the 
passage over the river which flows betwixt 
us and the land of perfect freedom ; but our 
Master, sometimes in a verse or two, as in 
the parable of the hidden Treasure, or the 
Pearl of great price, or sometimes in a few 
verses, as in the Ten Virgins, or the Vine 
and its branches, makes the whole truth live 
before you, crystal clear, and speak with you 
ever after, like a friend or a brother. I often 
think, when comparing man's words with 
God's, of what John Newton said about 
books. Some, he used to say, were all good 
enough in their way ; but there was so little 
truth in so many pages ; they were so bulky, 
it was like filling your pockets with cop- 
per money, very heavy and of small value. 
Others, he said, were better ; they had more 
truth in less space, and they were like silver. 
And there were a few others better still, very 
choice books of rare value ; they were like 

20 



306 BEYOND THE RIVEB. 

gold. But, he said, there was one book of 
which every leaf was a bank-note of inesti- 
mable worth : and that book was the Bible. 
However, I shall be quite content if my 
grandchildren can carry away with them in 
the silken purse of their memory a few silver 
coins from listening to my parable, ' Beyond 
the River: " 

" I know, grandfather," said Adolphe, 
" that when you spoke of persecution making 
Le Vol de Grace utterly desolate and spoil- 
ing its loveliest homes with fire and sword, 
you said nothing but what really happened to 
our ancestors ; for I have been reading the 
history of the Huguenots till my cheeks 
burned and tingled. In those awful dragon- 
nades, the soldiers seemed to stop at nothing. 
They were like blood-hounds let loose. And 
you have taught us that in a parable we must 
not expect every part to fit into the lesson it 
teaches. But if, as I suppose, that valley, 
when the persecution at length reached it and 
the people had to fly for their lives, signifies 



BEYOND THE RIVER, 307 

our pilgrim state here on earth, surely in 
happy England, and in days of peace like 
ours, Ave are not exposed to quite such great 
dangers, are we ? " 

" I grant you, my boy," answered Oberlin, 
" that as to things seen and temporal, our 
state now is rather described by St. Luke, 
when he said, fc Then had the churches rest 
throughout all Judea, and Galilee, and Sa- 
maria, and were edified ; and walking in the 
fear of the Lord, and in the comfort of the 
Holy Ghost, were multiplied.' A Thank God 
for it ! But looking at things unseen and 
eternal, we must remember that, taken at the 
best, this is a sin-stricken, death-stricken 
world. 4 Sin entered into the world, and 
death by sin.' 2 And, as we saw with Aveh- 
dah, the land was as the garden of Eden 
before them, and behind them a desolate 
wilderness. No home is too lovely for sin 
and death to spoil. And there is a true sense 
in which every Christian pilgrim hears and 

1 Actsix. 31. 2 Eom.y. 12. 



808 BEYOXD THE RIVER. 

obeys the command, 4 Arise ye and depart, 
for this is not your rest : because it is polluted, 
it shall destroy you, even with a sore destruc- 
tion.' 1 Those who are most anxious to re- 
main here find it cannot be. Here we have 
no continuing city. Our days on the earth 
are as a shadow, and there is none abiding. 
But I allow the main drift of my parable 
pointed to crossing the river, and reaching 
first the glen, and afterwards going up to the 
city." 

" Grandfather," exclaimed little Roschen, 
eagerly, " you said half a text which I found 
out just now. May I read it all ? ' For here 
have we no continuing city, but we seek one 
to come.' 2 When you spoke of that city 
among the hills, I thought of my favorite 
hymn, 

'Jerusalem, my happy home, 
Name ever dear to me.' 

Oh, how I wish we could really see its walls 
and spires from this valley ! " 

iMicahii. 10. 2 Heb. xiii. 14. 



BEYOND THE RIVER. 309 

u Why," chimed in Gustave, " if only we 
could see Bunyan's Celestial City, I don't 
think I should trouble about any thing that 
lay betwixt us and it. But, Roschen, dear, 
3^ou and I must remember what grandfather 
said about being willing to walk by faith and 
not by sight." 

" Yes, my boy," said Oberlin, and his happy 
smile told how his heart rejoiced that Gus- 
tave was learning this lesson, " and we do see 
Jerusalem the Golden by the eye of faith. 
Faith is the soul's eye. And so we read, 
shortly before the text Roschen quoted, that 
the pilgrim fathers, who confessed that they 
were strangers here, and were seeking a heav- 
enly fatherland, ; looked for a city which hath 
foundations, whose builder and maker is God.' x 
Its glory shines right down the valley of life 
to the farthest narrow entrance ; even chil- 
dren may catch many a glimpse of it. But it 
ought to attract the eye and fill the heart far 
more as the traveller draws nearer and nearer 

i Heb. xi. 10. 



310 BEYOND THE RIVER. 

the brink of the river fords. Those fords, 
Les Basses Terribles of our parable, must be 
crossed by all." 

u Little Celeste did not find them terrible, 
grandfather, did she ? " asked Aimee. " I 
envied her, led to the very banks of the river 
by her dear old pastor, who had shielded her 
from every danger, so that he said no one had 
touched one of her golden hairs, and then 
gently placed her in the prince's arms, who 
carried her over so tenderly that she never 
even shuddered when the waters flowed over 
her. O, I should like to cross the river so !" 

u And yet," broke in old Robin, " if I read 
the meaning right, thousands and thousands 
of infant children do die, and know noth- 
ing about it, till they are carried right into 
heaven by the Good Shepherd." 

" And not babes in years only," replied 
Oberlin, "but young men and maidens, aye, 
and old saints too, who have a child's heart 
and a child's faith, pass over to the better 
land without a shadow of a cloud of fear, 



BEYOND THE RIVER. 311 

though sometimes, I know, the waters are 
far deeper than at others." 

" Why did the story make," asked Roschen, 
" Pascal so soon lose sight of Celeste and 
the prince ? I think it would have cheered 
the old man so, if he could have seen them 
step upon the opposite bank." 

" Ah, my lamb," answered Oberlin, 
" friends may come with us to the river 
brink, but they cannot go over themselves 
till their own time is come ; and often they 
cannot see to the further side, though a smile 
on the cheek and a light in the eye tell of 
the glory which the dying saint is entering. 
It is the office of the chief shepherd only, 
who knows every step of the passage, — for 
He once forded it in the days of His flesh, — 
to be with us in crossing Les Basses Terri- 
lles. Can you tell me any Scriptures which 
speak of this ? " 

" My psalm," replied Roschen, " says, 
4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of 
the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for 



312 BEYOND THE RIVER. 

Thou art with me.' 1 Only there it is aval- 
ley, and not a river." 

" But in Isaiah we find the very figure of 
onr parable," said Aim£e. " 4 When thou 
passest through the waters I will be with 
thee, and through the rivers, they shall not 
overflow thee.' " 2 

" And I thought," said Adolphe, " of the 
children of Israel passing over Jordan, and of 
the words of Joshua, 4 Behold the ark of the 
covenant of the Lord of all the earth pass- 
eth over before you into Jordan ;' 3 and you 
remember, when the feet of the priests that 
bore the ark were dipped in the brim of the 
water, the river was divided, and the people 
passed over dry-shod. Only then it was so 
different from the prince himself wading 
through the waters, and carrying the pilgrims 
in his arms, or holding them by their hand 
while they crossed." 

" But at least," said Oberlin, " the history 
of Israel may tell us that when we have 

l Psalm xxiii. 4. 2 L>a. xliii. 2. 3 j os h. m 2. 



BEYOND THE RIVER. 313 

walked through the weary wilderness, there 
yet flows the Jordan between us and Canaan, 
and how blessed they are who have an Incar- 
nate Saviour, of whom the ark was a type, 
with them. Terrible, indeed, must be the 
passage of the river of death for those who 
have no Almighty Friend to meet them 
there." 

" May I make so bold, sir, as to ask," said 
Robin, " what the tempest which broke over 
the mountains and swelled the fords so terri- 
bly signifies ? My heart almost misgave me 
for that poor lad, Hilaire." 

" Many things may make death more fear- 
ful to some Christians than to others," an- 
swered Oberlin. " Sometimes their bodily 
sufferings are very great ; sometimes the 
memory of past sins, even though they have 
all been washed away in Christ's blood, seems 
almost to overwhelm the mind; sometimes 
Satan is permitted to aim many a fiery dart 
at the trembling traveller, as he is buffeting 
his way through the waters. But if the 



314 BEYOND THE RIVER. 

Prince is with him, and holds him fast, all 
is well, for no one has ever yet plucked one 
of His sheep or lambs out of the arms of the 
Good Shepherd. Hilaire got over as safely, 
though not so smoothly, as Celeste." 

44 And then," said Adolphe, " how per- 
fectly delightful it must have been for Victor 
to rescue that little Theodore. Oh ! I think 
of all joj^s in the world, the greatest must 
be to save a soul from death. Is there any 
meaning in the goat-tracks on the upper edge 
of the valley being so dangerous, grand- 
father?" 

14 Perhaps we might say," answered Ober- 
lin, " that those who tread the heights of 
thought are exposed most to rocks and preci- 
pices, as well as other perils. But we must 
hasten on to consider their happy lot beyond 
the river. They all got safely over under 
the guidance and guardianship of the prince. 
What do you understand by the sheltered 
glen on the further side?" 

" Oh, grandfather," said Aim6e, " is it not 



BEYOND THE RIVER. 315 

that paradise of which you so often speak to 
us, where our dear father and mother, and 
all who sleep in Jesus, are?" 

" Then I suppose the three maidens who 
took Celeste were angels," said Roschen. 

" And the fruit-trees and the rivulets of 
that gien, and the meadows where the chil- 
dren played, would, I suppose," said Gus- 
tave, " answer to the heavenly pleasures of 
those of whom we read that the Lamb which 
is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, 
and lead them to living fountains of water. 1 
How my heart leaped up with them when 
Celeste and Hilaire sprang to welcome Victor 
and Pascal and the prince ! I wish the one who 
spoke of what he saw in the glen that morn- 
ing had not so dimmed his eyes with tears 
that he could not see clearly. He seemed to 
know more about the city than the glen." 

"And the Bible," said Oberlin, "tells 
us more about the New Jerusalem than it 
does about the paradise of the blessed dead. 

1 Rev. vii. 17. 



316 BEYOND THE RIVER. 

However, it tells us quite enough for us to 
know that happy as it is to serve Christ here, 
whom not having seen we love, it will be far 
happier to go and be with Him whom our 
soul loveth, and with all those who have 
crossed over the river before us in His faith 
and fear. To depart and be with Christ is 
far better. 1 It is, as He promised to the 
dying thief, to be with Him in paradise. 2 
It is that state of which St. Paul wrote, ' We 
are confident and willing rather to be absent 
from the body and to be present with the 
Lord.' 3 It is the felicity of those of whom 
the voice from heaven spoke to St. John in 
Patmos, ' Blessed are the dead which die in 
the Lord,' and of whom the Spirit immedi- 
ately bore witness, ' Yea, that they may rest 
from their labors ; and their works do follow 
them,' 4 so that we may always think of the 
Christian's course as good, better, best. It is 
good to serve so dear a Master here : His 

i Phil. i. 21. ^Luke xxiii. 43. 

3 2 Cor. v. 8. 4 Rev xiv. 13. 



BEYOND THE RIVER. 317 

work is wages. It will be better, yes, far 
better, when He summons us to His presence 
and His rest with all the other holy dead. 
It will be best of all in the glory of the Res- 
urrection morning, when we enter into the 
gates of the celestial city with everlasting 
joy upon our heads. Our parable did not 
stop short of this superlative joy." 

" Oh, no, grandfather," said Gustave, 
"that procession from the glen to the city 
was so delightful. Of course we all thought 
of the close of the Pilgrim's Progress. Only 
there the pilgrims went straight up out of the 
river to the city which was builded higher 
than the clouds. I suppose by the chariots 
with their charioteers you meant angels ; for 
I remembered the text, ; The chariots of 
God are twenty thousand, even thousands of 
angels,' x and how Lazarus was carried by 
the angels to Abraham's bosom." 2 

" And then," continued Adolphe, " the 
prince being with them, and having a word 
1 Psalm lxviii. 17. 2 Luke xvi. 22. 



318 BEYOND THE RIVER. 

and a smile for each, reminded me of the 
promise of Jesus : ' If I go and prepare a place 
for you, I will come again and receive you 
unto myself, that where I am there ye may 
be also.' 1 Surely this will be heaven's joy of 

" And how pleasant it must have been," 
cried Roschen, " for each of them to have 
received a gift from the prince's own hands ! 
I think I should have liked the pearls best, 
they are so pure and lovely." 

" Nay," said Aimee, "nothing could be so 
dear as the prince's own likeness. But I sus- 
pect they each thought their own the best, 
because it was his choice for them. Do you 
not think that the wand of office would be 
given to the beloved old Pascal, and the sig- 
net ring to Hilaire ? " 

"At all events," answered Oberlin, "the 
promise, fc Behold I come quickly, and my 
reward is with me to give every man accord- 
ing as his work shall be,' 2 assures us that no 
1 John xiv. 3. 2 Rev. xxii. 12. 



BEYOND THE RIVER. 319 

faithful laborer will be forgotten in that day. 
And then they all sat down to the banquet, 
and were all served by the prince himself. 
May not this remind us, that while some of 
the gifts of God's love in heaven are peculiar 
to each saint who receives them, many, per- 
haps most, of the joys of glory will be shared 
in common by all ? " 

" Oh, grandfather," said Gustave, " I was 
so very glad they found again in the city all 
the pleasures they had enjoyed in the valley, 
only so much more enjoyable than ever. The 
heaven which some persons describe seems so 
dull and so very different from that heaven 
you always lead us to expect." 

" "Well, dear boy," answered Oberlin, " let 
the Bible always decide these questions : for 
4 Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither 
have entered into the heart of man, the things 
which God hath prepared for them that love 
Him ; but God hath revealed them to us by 
His Spirit, for the Spirit searcheth all things, 



320 BEYOND THE KIVER. 

even the deep things of God.' 1 Does not 
the Bible speak of our dwelling hereafter in 
mansions, which shall be part of the royal 
palace ? " 

" Yes," said Gustave ; " Jesus said, ; In 
my Father's house are many mansions ; I go 
to prepare a place for you.' " 2 

"And of gardens of delight?" continued 
Oberlin. 

" Yes," replied Adolphe ; " ' He showed 
me a pure river of water of life, clear as 
crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God 
and of the Lamb : in the midst of the street 
of it, and on either side of the river, was 
there the tree of life, which bare twelve 
manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every 
month.' " 3 

" And of music, Aimee? " asked Oberlin. 

"Yes, grandfather; St. John writes, 'I 
looked, and lo, a Lamb stood on the Mount 
Zion, and with Him an hundred forty and 
four thousand, having his Father's name 

1 1 Cor. ii. 9, 10. 2 John xiv. 2. » Rev. xxii. 1, 2. 



BEYOND THE RIVER. 321 

written in their foreheads. And I heard a 
voice from heaven, as the voice of many 
waters, and as the voice of a great thunder : 
and as the voice of harpers harping with 
their harps : and they sang as it were a new 
song before the throne.' " * 

" And what did the text you repeated to 
me this morning tell of the Lord Jesus, shep- 
herding His flock hereafter, Roschen? " said 
Oberlin. 

" ' Other sheep I have, which are not of 
this fold : them also I must bring, and they 
shall hear my voice ; and there shall be one 
fold, and one shepherd,'" 2 answered Ros- 
chen. 

" And lastly, does the Bible say any thing 
of temple worship ? " asked Oberlin. 

" Yes, grandfather," replied Adolphe, " we 
read of the white robed multitude, 6 There- 
fore are they before the throne of God, and 
serve Him day and night in His temple.'" 3 

" God only grant," said the old man, fer- 

1 Rev. xiv. 1-3. 2 John x. 16. 3 Rev. vi. 15. 
21 



322 BEYOND THE RIVER. 

vently, " that we all, you my grandchildren, 
and yon Marie, and you Robin, and all we 
love, may be among that blessed company of 
all faithful people who swell the tide of hal- 
lelujah before that throne, singing, 4 Unto 
Him that loved us and washed us from our 
sins, and hath made us kings and priests 
unto God and His Father, to Him be glory 
and dominion for ever and ever. Amen. 5 " 




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